Moments in Time
by jenncgf
Summary: A collection of moments in the lives of four people, and how these events made them a family. F!Cousland/N.Howe/Oghren/Anders
1. 10 Years Before the Blight

NOTE: I own none of the intellectual properties associated with Dragon Age. They belong to the good folks at Bioware.

**It's** her tenth birthday. Her favorite present is the shortbow that her mother gives her. "This is the bow I learned on," her mother says. "If you like it and do well with it, we will get you a longbow to use." There are also books from her brother and her new sister-in-law, which are nice, and Father has arranged for archery lessons, something she has been asking for since she was eight. She idolizes her mother and wants to grow up to be just like her – beautiful, tough, and smart. Mother smiles with pride when she runs off to try out her new gift.

**He** is eagerly listening to Father tell him a story about the haunted marsh. "Everyone disappeared from there, just before the war," Father says. "Nobody ever found any of the villagers. All they know is that there was a fire in the mansion, and everyone was gone. They say that there are whispers and strange things there, and nobody has gone to live there since."

He goes to sleep, dreaming about going there when he grows up and finding out what caused the problem. He will be a hero and will make Father proud when he fixes it. He smiles in his sleep as he dreams about how glorious it will be.

**His **first wedding anniversary is today. To celebrate, he goes to Tapster's and has a drink. Then another drink. He tries to limit it to two, because he wants to get home and celebrate with his wife. He found a model pony that he just knows she will love. She always was an odd girl, but that's why he likes her. She's interesting. She nags him some about the drinking, but generally she lets him do his thing, just as he doesn't mind her staying up late to experiment with her smithing. She's a lot smarter than he is, after all, and even though he tries to understand what she's doing when she explains it, he only catches bits and pieces. He pays his tab and picks up the model, bringing it home in the hopes that she'll not be mad about the ale and they can _celebrate._ At the thought of that, he leers to himself and laughs under his breath.

**After** all these years of being treated like a normal boy, he forgets himself and shows off to the cute girl in the village, the one he would really like to have his first kiss with. When she sees him light the candle without any flint or steel, she screams and runs off. He chases after her, "Please! Wait! I won't hurt you!" only to find that her father and uncles have blocked the way. He is only fourteen, so it doesn't take long for them to subdue him and lock him in the Chantry's storeroom. It takes a couple of days, but the templars finally come and drag him off. They are also much larger and stronger than he, so his resistance only serves to wear him out. He tries to use his special tricks to free himself, but before he can finish summoning his power, he feels weak and empty. He looks up in despair, hoping to get one last look at the pretty girl he really likes, only to see that the entire village, including his parents, are staring at him with fear and hatred in their eyes.

It only takes two days to get to the big tower in the middle of the lake, where they lock him in and tell him that is where he will spend the rest of his life. He is shown a bed in a room full of other children, most of them far younger than he is, and is told that this is his new home. The same templars who dragged him here are now standing around the room, watching his every move.


	2. 7 Years Before the Blight

**When **she holds the baby in her arms for the first time, she's fascinated. The tiny little person has chubby little arms and legs. Little unfocused eyes peek out under a shock of dark brown hair like his father's. She falls in love with her nephew immediately; her sister-in-law can barely manage to pry the babe out of her arms to feed him. Everyone dotes on him, but she is almost more excited than the baby's parents. "Little Oren," she coos to him as she rocks him in her arms. The only thing that can drag her away from the baby is the brand new longbow to replace the older one that was worn with use. She spends equal time practicing with her longbow and playing with the baby. She is so completely occupied between the two she has no idea that anyone else exists in the world.

**Father** is disappointed in him more and more. No matter what he does to try to please his father, he's too small or he's too shy or he's too skinny. Delilah is two years younger than him, and Thomas four, but they are both the same height as he, and Thomas is stronger. Mother tells him that he will grow, and he is a 'late bloomer,' but that does not redeem him in Father's eyes. Subconsciously he knows it's because he takes after his mother's side of the family, and for some reason Father does not get along with them, but he still tries to do anything and everything to get Father's approval.

Finally, one day, Father invites him along to visit the Teyrn. On the way there, Father tells him that he must make a good impression on the Teyrn's daughter. "Part of being a nobleman is learning how to get along with the other nobles," Father says. "I want you to introduce yourself to the daughter. I expect to make a match between you two and her father allows her too much freedom, so for this to happen you need to be … friends with her."

He knows this is a big responsibility that Father has assigned him, and he wants to please Father, but when he sees the girl he's terrified. She is practicing archery in the courtyard when they arrive, and her skill and concentration are amazing. She is tall, several inches taller than him in fact, with brown hair that is kept in a long braid down her back. She is more beautiful than anyone else there. He tries to approach her, he honestly does, but she pays him no notice as her brother arrives in the courtyard with a baby in his arms. She puts down the bow and her enormous green eyes shine with excitement as she takes the baby from its father and begins to play with it. He is too shy and too afraid to talk to her – her self-confidence makes him feel even more helpless and inept than usual, and he never manages to even say three words to her.

Father is so angry that he refuses to speak all the way home or for a week afterward. He knows that he has messed up worse than ever before, but he doesn't know how to fix things. He's just so _awkward_ and afraid.

On his fifteenth birthday, a letter arrives from one of Father's friends in the Free Marches. The next day, his things are packed and he is sent to learn "how to be a man." Father informs him that he will never amount to much, and that Thomas will end up becoming Arl someday. He swears to himself that he will, one day, be worthy of Father's praise and vows to work as hard as he can to redeem himself.

"**I've** got it!" his wife announces proudly as she walks in the door. She tries to describe the smokeless fuel that she has developed to him, but he has no idea what she is talking about. After all, he is a warrior, not a smith. He _is_ proud of her, though; this sounds like a really big deal. He has no idea _how_ big a deal it is.

Within the month, there is talk of making her a Paragon. "A living Ancestor!" he exclaims. "Good on you!" The vote is cast, and is nearly unanimously in favor of Branka being named a Paragon. He actually goes without drink before the ceremony and cleans up as well as he can so that he can make her happy on her special day. Unfortunately, he goes overboard at the celebration afterward, so she gets angry at him anyway.

His own reputation as a warrior has grown on its own, but with her elevation to Paragon status, he becomes a minor celebrity. He doesn't mind the attention, especially since it means that he gets drinks for free at Tapsters more often than not. Her duties as Paragon start to take her away from home more and more, and he starts to drink more and more out of loneliness and habit.

**The **harrowing isn't really all that big a deal. Granted, he was surprised that he got called to undertake his so soon; after all, he's only been an apprentice for three years. Most apprentices don't get called for almost a decade. The First Enchanter tells him that he has remarkable skill and power, however, and the lessons _were_ incredibly easy. He enters the Fade and is back within two hours. Everyone seems to be impressed.

"You are a natural," Irving tells him. "You could become a Senior Enchanter within a year at the rate you are learning."

"You mean that's all I have to look forward to?" he asks the First Enchanter. "Why bother learning how to harness the power if we never get to _use_ it? It's ridiculous!"

Irving spouts platitudes about compromise, but he feels patronized. He looks around him at the other mages, and he notices that the longer they stay in their prettied-up prison, the more complacent they become and the more _cowardly_ and _accepting_ they become. In his eyes, they are worse than sheep. At least sheep get moved from place to place occasionally. He makes plans to try to escape that very night.


	3. 4 Years Before the Blight

**It's** been only two months since her sixteenth birthday, and the constant visits from "well-wishers" has her annoyed and tired. She knows that nearly all of them could care less about her as a person; rather, the sons of the country's nobles come to the castle to try to land the only eligible teyrn's daughter in the country. She suspects that this is made worse by the fact that her father was nearly voted to be king, due to his popularity and leadership skill, only the previous year. The young men who share their parents' ambitions are the worst, leaving her with a slimy feeling every time she meets with one of them. The worst of these is her father's good friend from the war and his son Thomas. Every time she talks to the Arl she feels like she needs to take a bath afterward. Thomas used to be a nice boy, but every time she sees him (which is frequently), he starts to act more and more like the elder Howe. To top things off, she has caught him sneaking liquor from her parents' wine cellars. Seeing as he is only thirteen, she wants nothing to do with the boy. He is nothing but trouble. She remains polite to him only because of her father's relationship with the Arl.

She spends additional time training with her bow, and has picked up some convenient skills such as lock-picking and sneaking around. Mostly this is to get away from the constant marriage-seekers, but it serves her purposes well when meeting with her best friend. Rory Gilmore understands her and has always treated her with respect, but he also speaks to her like a _person._ He's the only non-family member she knows who does not act like a sycophant. They talk and laugh, and train together a lot. Finally, she decides to learn what all the fuss is about and asks her best friend to stay the night with her. With some gentle persuasion, he agrees. Neither of them knows what to do, it being the first time for each of them, so the encounter is nothing special. She decides that she would rather wait until she finds someone that she loves, instead of merely likes, to try it again.

**He** can finally wear the leather armor that has been in his family for generations. During the past year, he has grown from a boy to a man and no longer stares at peoples' collarbones. Instead, he has grown taller than the knight for whom he squires. This causes him to have to adjust his stealth skills while hunting and scouting, but he still retains his lightness of step and his quickness. He has worked hard over the past few years, increasing his strength beyond even some of the swordsmen that he trains with, which serves him well when shooting arrows. His Antivan archery and scouting instructor gives him an improved longbow. He starts practicing with it immediately.

Praise from his instructors has increased his self-confidence tremendously. His sister writes him letters continuously, as she has done for years. He receives fewer letters from his father, but it's just as well. Most of the time his father writes it's to tell him how well his brother has been doing. His brother doesn't write at all. He still hopes to make his father proud, so he tells him of his accomplishments and continues to try to learn new things that could be useful.

One of the servants at the castle approaches him. She flirts with him. She flatters him and tells him he is handsome as she runs her hand up his arm. It doesn't take long before she finds his room in the middle of the night and teaches him how to please her.

**Now** that the smokeless fuel is perfected, Branka has started researching golem construction. The darkspawn continue to plague the Deep Roads, and she wants to make a real difference for dwarven defense. Her research takes her to longer and longer work days and she spends most of her time with her books. What time she does not spend trying to discover Caridin's secrets, she spends building the House of Branka. The captain of her guard, Hespith, helps her. The two begin working long into the nights.

He is lonely. He drinks. He misses his wife. He drinks some more. He starts to notice bystanders whispering when he walks by. He drinks more to be able to ignore them. When he is called to fight, as is a warrior's job, he throws himself fully into the work. When the job is done, he has a drink to congratulate himself.

Their wedding anniversary comes and goes. Neither of them notices.

**The** next time, he reasons, he will figure out a way to get out of the tower and stay out. He has just been released from punishment for his fourth escape attempt. The templars give him his things back. The first thing he puts on is the pendant that Bann Ferrenly gave him for saving his life. The gift means a lot to him, as it reminds him that his talents are useful out in the world, if only he could be given a chance. The problem, of course, is that he keeps getting caught because he always manages to stumble upon someone in trouble. By the time he helps whoever has the problem, the templars catch up to him again and toss him into a cell, for increasingly longer periods of time. This time was a month, but he is informed that if he tries again it will be three months of solitary confinement.

He behaves himself for two months straight before the walls close in on him beyond what he can bear. Quick trysts with other willing mages only provide temporary reprieve, and he is not the type of person to abuse potions or wine to forget that he is caged. He starts to plan another escape attempt, this time focusing on trying to find and destroy his phylactery so that one day he will be really and truly free.


	4. 1 Year Before the Blight

**She **is nineteen now, and still the parade of noblemen with their sons seeking political advantage through marriage persists. The mothers of the sons have joined in as well. Whenever a noblewoman has a function, she is expected to attend and play dress-up while the mothers of marriageable men in the country persist in telling her all of their sons' virtues. She has learned to take it in stride, and continues to put off the power-seekers. She knows that one day she will most likely need to make a match, but so far none of the men have truly captured her interest. She does not feel that she needs to settle just yet. She ceases to believe the constant flattery and the compliments on her skill from the nobles, because they all seem designed to curry favor.

One day, she returns to the family's suite of rooms to find the sound of crying from the rooms her brother and his family share. She enters the room to find her brother's wife weeping desperately. After much consolation, Oriana tells her that she has suffered a miscarriage and that this is the third time that this has happened since Oren's birth. She hugs her distraught sister-in-law and quietly joins in her grief.

Her family has acquired some new mabari hounds. One of them, a healthy and especially intelligent two-year-old, bonds to her at first meeting. As a result, she is the sole member of her family to have a personal war dog. She begins training with the animal and they become constant companions, except when the dog sneaks away to raid the kitchen's food stores. This amuses her but frustrates her onetime nanny, now the castle's cook.

Rory Gilmore has been knighted and is now Ser Gilmore. She is proud of her best friend, and he seems to also be proud of his title. His new duties as a knight of Highever keep him away from the castle at times, but with her also acquiring new responsibilities as the daughter of a Teyrn, she understands. They meet to train when they can.

**Over **the course of the last six years, he has become a man. He is twenty, nearly twenty-one, and because of his conscious efforts to study and train hard, his mind is sharper than most of the other squires and his archery skills are unparalleled. His build has changed from a skinny, short child to a broad-shouldered, solidly built warrior. His gray eyes seek and find the smallest details, his large hands with long fingers can perform the most delicate of tasks, and despite his size, he can easily move silently and unseen. He is not classically handsome, but his physical prowess and his position as the son of an influential Arl in Ferelden have earned him admirers. He sharpens his wit to deflect many of the women, and occasional men, who try to get into his graces and his bed.

Responding to a letter he has written home describing his studies, Father has asked him about his poisons training. Father asks which of the poisons that he has learned about is the most interesting and the most deadly. Excited to have gained Father's interest in his activities, he researches what he has learned and writes about one of the more obscure poisons his Antivan trainer has taught him about. This particular poison is fascinating because it requires a mage to prepare, it mimics a lengthy illness not unlike consumption, and there is no known antidote. He sends the letter off as soon as he can, but does not receive any letters from Father for several months.

**House** Branka has been assembled now, and all of his former house has joined the Paragon. His wife continues her research, looking for clues to find the ancient anvil that was used to forge great hulking creatures of metal and stone, the golems, so that she can revive the lost art and reclaim the lost thaigs that the darkspawn have overrun. She spends all of her time on this research. He is left completely alone nearly all the time now. To compensate, he enters Provings constantly and goes on Deep Roads expeditions to fight the darkspawn.

One day, returning home after a long mission to try to drive back the darkspawn out one of the thaigs, he finds that the entire house has disappeared, gone to the Deep Roads where he cannot go. He is the only one left behind. The whispers that started years ago now become full-blown gossip, and even the noble-hunters will have little to do with him. His humiliation drives him to binge drinking far more frequently. He gets into his first bar brawl three months after he has been abandoned.

Four months after he has been abandoned, he becomes friendly with one of the waitresses, a pretty woman named Felsi, after she takes pity on him one night at the bar. They grow close quickly, and soon he starts spending the night with her when she is off shift.

**Soon**, he thinks. Soon it will be the right time to escape. This will be his sixth attempt to escape Chantry control, and he knows that he needs to truly succeed soon, or the Templars and the Chantry will brand him a maleficar – something he personally abhors – and execute him as such. The idea forms in his head to find out where exactly the mage phylacteries are stored in Denerim and get his destroyed. He quietly starts to gather as much information on their exact location as he can without being noticed.

As he goes about his business, he notices that some of the other mages seem to be unhappy as well. Very few have followed his lead; the templars have done a good job of making him an example to the other mages when he gets caught, imposing harsher punishments each time. But still, whispers start to surface and many of the mages seem to be nervous. He stays far away from the suspicious-acting mages, fearing that any association with them might cause him to be labeled a blood mage before he even gets the chance to get away from the Circle.

While studying and playing the part of a well-behaved, newly-reformed mage, he hears word that the Howe noble family is seeking a new house mage. He immediately goes to the First Enchanter and offers himself as a candidate for the position. The First Enchanter and the Knight Commander both summarily dismiss his candidacy because he is a huge flight risk. They instead appoint one of the other full mages who is far less talented to the position. The First Enchanter tells him that he will probably never get assigned out of the circle, given his history for running away. He despairs of spending the next 50 years or more locked in this prison and continues making plans in the hopes of permanently gaining his freedom.


	5. The Beginning of the Blight

**The** nightmare has her caught in its throes, causing her to thrash in her sleep. Her mind plays scenes of destruction and death, her entire family and all her friends slaughtered while she fails to save any of them. She is dragged out of sleep by a stranger, and reacts by punching and fighting him while he tries to defend himself by pinning her down. She manages to overpower him despite his superior size and strength, reversing their positions.

When the fog of the dream clears, she realizes that the nightmare was her mind replaying the prior night's events. The stranger she now has pinned and has a fist raised threateningly over is the man who helped her escape during the attack. She searches his eyes as she remembers, then collapses on top of him, fully clothed, in a twisted parody of the act of intimacy between man and woman. Somehow, she manages to roll off him before uncontrollable shaking renders her helpless as a newborn babe.

When her panic attack subsides, Duncan is sitting instead of lying down and is studying her quietly. She notes the beginnings of swelling around his eye. Embarrassed, she apologizes for injuring him, but he brushes it off. "It is better that you fight, rather than give up," he says. "That will serve you well in the days to come." He then makes a cryptic remark about nightmares as a way of life.

She falls silent and studies the fire while she remembers the previous night. One memory that keeps returning to her is when Rory looks at her, intently, as he refuses to go with her. He then puts his hand on her cheek as he explains that he will stay behind and help to keep the doors barred so that she can have a few more minutes to try to escape. He then runs to the door and puts his full weight behind it after calling her _my lady_ one last time, and she runs from the entrance hall knowing that he has sacrificed himself for her and that she needs to make his death _count._ She realizes only then that he was silently telling her that he has loved her for years, and the thought that he willingly sacrificed himself nearly unravels her.

Shaken, she turns to Duncan and asks him about their destination. As he describes Ostagar, she silently mourns the loss of everyone she has ever held dear, knowing that duty compels her to put off proper grieving until a better time.

**The** lord he has lived with the past several years calls him into his study one night. There, he is informed that his instructor has chosen to move back to Antiva to attend to family matters. The lord asks him to take over training the younger squires and the lord's bowmen, for he has consistently excelled in his studies during his tenure. The lord expresses pride in his progress and his confidence is greatly bolstered. Here, now, is an opportunity rarely afforded a squire, and he eagerly accepts the position. Now, he thinks, Father will be very proud indeed. The lord calls him a master bowman and slaps him on the back in an unfamiliar but welcome gesture of male friendship.

After writing letters home to Delilah and Father, he decides to enjoy a rare night of celebration. He joins the other older squires at the local tavern and drinks a few pints as they toast his accomplishments. When an attractive young woman offers her congratulations and more, he accepts. After all, it is a day to celebrate.

**During** an intimate moment with Felsi, he slips up and calls her by his wife's name. This is not the first time that this has happened, but it is the last. Felsi angrily gets out of bed and they argue bitterly. She calls him all sorts of horrible names and he responds by shutting down, hiding inside himself. She leaves, furious, and announces she is leaving for the surface and it will be too soon if she ever sees him or Orzammar again.

He dresses and heads to the tavern to drown his sorrows. This time, he hopes, he will black out and forget anything ever happened. As he drinks his tenth pint, one of the other patrons, also a warrior, taunts and humiliates him. This stretches his limits past the breaking point and he attacks the other dwarf.

The two are dragged apart and the decision is made to settle their grievances on the Proving grounds. The date is set, and when it arrives he realizes that this is his wedding anniversary and exactly one year since he found out his wife left him behind when she uprooted their entire house. He stands on the starting spot and is informed the duel will be to first blood. His opponent jeers at him, twisting the knife in already raw emotional wounds, and the starting signal has barely sounded when he grabs his axe and he sees red.

When he next remembers his own name, he finds that he has decapitated his opponent. He has let his rage overpower his ability to fight with a clear head. In the Deep Roads this would be no problem, but he has broken the rules of his duel and has dishonored the Proving. His weapon is stripped from him, and he is informed that should he ever carry a weapon within city limits again he will be exiled from his home. His humiliation complete, he wanders the city and tries to drink away the fact that he is now the laughingstock of the entire dwarven kingdom. He becomes constantly belligerent, to hide the hurt and drive away anyone else who could hurt him further, and inappropriateness becomes a way of life for him. His days are measured by how long it takes him to drink to the point of blacking out.

**This** is it. After nearly a year of planning and research and stowing away supplies, the opportunity finally presents itself for his sixth escape. The Circle Tower is in an uproar over the King's request to send a number of mages to Ostagar to fight the darkspawn. He knows he will never be allowed to go, but there is a large enough number of mages leaving the tower that he thinks he can sneak out with them, given the proper disguise. He sneaks into the Senior Enchanter Uldred's quarters and steals one of his spare robes, donning it and a cowl, and mills about with the legitimate releases from the Circle as they are ushered out of the Tower to their journey. His pack is fuller than most of the other mages, but nobody takes notice. It is not unusual to be carrying a pack on a journey such as this.

After they walk out of the tower, he quickly separates from the group and hides behind a large piece of crumbling stone. He waits silently while the mages are ferried over to the shore in small groups. When they are gone and the templars go back inside the tower he hurriedly changes out of the robes and swims to a secluded spot on the shore of the lake, his pack floating behind him. After arriving on shore and making sure nobody has yet spotted him, he quickly dons his regular robes and starts walking toward Denerim.

After a day of walking, he encounters a lovely elven woman named Namaya. The two become close quickly, and he charms her into his bedroll shortly after they begin traveling together. He tells her about his situation and she agrees to try to help him find where his phylactery has been stored so he can retrieve it. For the first time in forever, he allows himself hope that he might actually be able to stay out of the Circle and lead a life where he can come and go as he pleases.


	6. After Ostagar

**Lothering** is filled with despair when she and her companions set foot in it. The people within the village are already dead, it seems, and just wait for the attack that will cause their hearts to stop beating. The atmosphere in this tiny place matches her mood perfectly, but her parents' words about duty keep ringing in her ears, propelling her feet forward.

Her companions fill the time with bickering and baiting each other. The other Grey Warden is about the same age as she, but has led an even more sheltered existence than she has. He's a sweet boy, full of ideals and innocence. If they survive this thing, she thinks, then he might make a fine man someday. For now, though, he is but a boy in grief and is unable to get past the deaths of the other Wardens, especially his hero Duncan. The witch is all swagger and confidence on the outside, and she quickly learns that the woman has never had opportunity to let her soul develop. What the witch calls weakness and sentimentality – and Morrigan _does_ use the word sentimentality as if it is a dirty word – she and Alistair call humanity.

She quickly learns that out of the three (four if you count the mabari), she is the only one who has had any training whatsoever in leading others. Her knowledge is nearly all theoretical at that. So she pushes back grieving for later, since nobody else wants to see it anyway, and tries to remember what Father and Mother would have wanted her to do. As a result, they spend an entire day beating back bandits, clearing the fields of darkspawn-infected animals, and trying to find information on what lies in store for them. Their ragtag group acquires two more damaged souls before leaving the village and making camp for the night.

She quietly asks Morrigan to teach her basic survival skills once they reach camp. She realizes that she has never washed a shirt nor cooked a meal in her life, and vows that she won't be helpless ever again. Morrigan looks surprised at first, but the beginnings of respect show in her eyes. After dinner, she collapses on her bedroll, thankful that the Qunari has taken first watch, and welcomes the darkspawn-filled nightmares. At least those nightmares don't involve her family.

**The** letter that comes from Father is brief, but informative. He learns that Father has moved to Denerim and that Thomas has moved with him. Father instructs him to stay in Kirkwall and continue his training so that eventually he might be useful. Delilah's letter informs him that she and Mother have decided to stay on in Amaranthine, and that King Cailan has assembled an army in the south to fight off darkspawn.

Worried about his family, he spends a long time that night studying the ring his sister gave him when they were children. He runs his finger over the outside edge of the band out of habit while he tries to figure out what his father and sister have _not_ written in their notes. Something is clearly going on, but distance and a lack of information frustrate his efforts to figure it out on his own. He writes replies to both of them that very evening asking for more information and hopes the responses will be quick.

**Orzammar** is in complete upheaval. King Endrin has apparently fallen ill and factions within the populace form as to whom the Assembly should place on the throne, should the King perish. Rumors fly about the populace; some say the King has been poisoned. Others say he lies dying of a broken heart. Losing two out of three sons at the same time due to treachery can do that to a man. While he does not wish harm to befall the King, he does find relief that his personal situation is not the biggest topic of news in the city for a change.

Signs that the dwarven kingdom is tearing itself apart manifest in the form of bandits from Dust Town. They become more bold during the unrest and brazenly start openly encroaching on the merchant's quarter. Darkspawn activity is also at an all-time high around the city and the squad of guards monitoring the entrance to the Deep Roads is doubled.

He remembers Branka's research and starts petitioning to get an expedition to the Deep Roads. His reputation shot, he fails to gather enough support to try to find her and get her back to the city. Still, his determination does not fail him and he vows to keep trying. If anyone can save the dwarven kingdom, Branka can as their Paragon.

**He **should have seen the ambush coming, he thinks, as the templars drain him completely of his powers and lock him in chains to bring him back, yet again, to the Circle. By now the feeling of having his mana drained is a familiar one. But he and Namaya were _so_ close this time. They had actually found the warehouse where the phylacteries were supposed to be stored and had tried to sneak in, only to find the contingent of templars waiting for them. At least Namaya had been able to blend into the shadows and hide; he would have felt terrible if they had caught her too.

When they arrive at the Circle Tower, he waits resignedly to hear his fate. The sentence, a year in solitary confinement, stuns him into realizing that he truly has few chances left. He is stripped of his belongings, yet again, left only in simple robes before he is dragged down to a holding cell. As the key is turned in the lock, he closes his eyes and despair washes over him. He is a gregarious creature by nature, and this sentence is possibly the only thing worse than death for him. He studies the runes on the door that prevent magic from being used on the locks and curses his inability to pick the lock using normal means.


	7. 2 Months After Ostagar

**The** Bann is a charming man, considerate and kind, and seems to show genuine interest in her as both woman and warrior. The fact that he is also exceedingly handsome only adds to his appeal. But irony dictates that the timing means that it will likely never happen. It's really too bad, she thinks, because Mother and Father would really like this man, as she genuinely does. Besides, at this point she has ceased to think of herself as a noble, even though those who know her family would argue otherwise. Nobles don't traipse the countryside killing bandits, darkspawn, and demons with little more than their wits and a quiver of arrows.

Alistair shifts uncomfortably behind her as they enter the castle. "Did we really have to bring Zevran with us?" he asks testily. She chuckles quietly and reminds him, teasing him by calling him _Your Majesty,_ that his inner templar is showing again. Besides, it's not like the rest of their group is exactly _normal._ When your least unusual companion is a senior enchanter of the Circle of Magi, who also happens to be old enough to be your grandmother, it's hard to be picky about who joins you. He rolls his eyes, but falls silent as they encounter more of the walking corpses.

She takes a moment between swarms of undead to turn and look at Alistair. She realizes, upon looking at his face, that has been wearing the same scowl since Bann Teagan first said she was lovely. This intrigues her and she makes a note to ask about it when they get a chance to rest again. She turns forward and starts scouting ahead to make sure they're not surprised by monsters waiting in a side room somewhere.

After a long day of fighting corpses and possessed nobles, they set up camp for the night as they prepare to return to the Circle of Magi. She is surprised to find that Alistair finds her first and after much blushing and stammering, offers her a token of his affection and kisses her. For the first time in years, she believes someone when he tells her that he thinks she is beautiful, because she can see in his eyes that he really means it.

**Two** months have passed since he has last heard word from Delilah or Father. He worries more about the absence of communication from his sister, since she has always been reliable with her letter-writing. Finally, travelers arrive who have passed through Ferelden and the news is unsettling. The army formed at Ostagar has fallen, including the King, the Grey Wardens have been declared traitors to the throne, the Cousland family was summarily killed and his father now holds the title of Teyrn of Highever, and Teyrn Loghain has declared himself Anora's Regent. Civil war has begun and most messages and supply chains in and out of the country are at a standstill.

Reassured that at least Father is all right, he hopes that this means that the rest of his family is also safe. He knows that hearing from his family will be difficult at best for some time and throws himself into his work. Training is coming along well for the younger squires and he is told that he has a year left in his own studies before he can be called Ser. He vows to work as hard as he can to earn his title, and then he will return to Ferelden to help Father and Thomas run the Teyrnir and the Arling.

The woman who he has been spending time with tells him she loves him. Knowing that his future is uncertain, he decides to break things off and remain unattached. Father might require him to make a political marriage match, and he swears to himself that he will not disappoint Father this time. It's really too bad, because she is a lovely girl from a good family and he really likes her.

**Chaos** and disruption have become the standard for the city, even though the King yet lives. He still hasn't convinced any of the houses to send warriors to help him search for Branka, which annoys him to no end. But still he tries. After all, she is his wife and despite their differences, he really sodding _misses_ her. He just knows that she would set these blighters straight if she was here.

A merchant heading to the surface for trade purposes requires a warrior for protection. He volunteers, if only to get to hold a weapon again. They stop at an inn by Lake Calenhad for dinner, and he asks if Felsi is there. He is informed that she is home with her sick mother. He sighs and figures that if the Ancestors meant for him to see her, then her mother would not have gotten sick that night. He has an extra drink with dinner before rejoining the merchant as they head back to the Frostback Mountains, their business concluded.

**Carroll's** replacement came by too long ago, he thinks. He lies still, listlessly looking at the templar corpse outside his cell that has started to really stink. He is too weak to do anything else. Thank the Maker that Carroll brought by a fresh bucket of water for washing up, otherwise he would have died of dehydration by now. He wonders idly if anyone will find him before he dies of starvation instead. Maybe the possessed Mr. Wiggums has killed too many people. They have obviously forgotten about him down in the basement. He closes his eyes, finally giving up and letting the Maker do what He will.

When he next awakens, there is a beautiful mage kneeling over him and he is out of his cell. He somehow manages to croak, "Am I in the Fade?" His voice is weak from disuse and dryness. She shakes her head as she tends to him, explaining that they found him just in time and that he is being healed. She manages to get him to drink a bit as he finally remembers her. "Petra, right?" he guesses, and she nods as she helps him sit up and try to eat.

He stays in the infirmary for a couple of days, gathering just enough strength that he doesn't need constant attention. The other surviving mages tell him about Uldred going crazy and blood mages and abominations running rampant, and how a Grey Warden and her friends came in and cleaned out the worst of the mess. They took Senior Enchanter Wynne with them when they left.

Irving and Greagoir both come to see him together. They ask him what he saw, and he tells them what little he knows. All he saw was Mr. Wiggums' possession and the subsequent murder of the templar who was supposed to be keeping watch over his cell, and then … nothing. They ask him who the last person was to bring him food. He answers that it was Carroll. Both of the men's faces pale; Carroll's sole duty had been guarding the docks since the beginning of the _incident_. Apparently nobody had tended to him in nearly a month. Greagoir tells him that he's lucky to be alive as a group of templars arrive to bring him back to his cell. He manages to snort in disbelief as they carry him out of the room.

As the templars carry him into his cell, he is surprised to note that it has been cleaned and that he's got fresh bedding. He looks at them in question. They shrug and simply say that it was the Knight-Commander's orders. He is still to finish his sentence, but they promise that he won't be forgotten again.

Once a week, Petra arrives with books for him to read from the library. This is the first time that he has been shown any kindness while imprisoned. He nearly weeps with gratitude.


	8. 10 Months After Ostagar

**The** dwarf has been surprisingly lucid on their journey, despite the copious amounts of alcohol he has consumed. The really scary part is that his smell has not become even _more_ saturated with alcohol, so this constant state of inebriation must be his version of normal.

She looks over to Alistair, and notes he's still blushing from when Oghren commented on their relationship using several colorful metaphors. She grins to herself as she turns forward to scout out the last tunnel, looking for darkspawn in hidden passages. The thought occurs to her that Alistair _was_ right; the blight _did_ bring them together. "And it was good," she murmurs to herself. She never expected to find love during this mess, but she did, and her lover is turning into a good man as she thought he would.

They enter a huge cavern and in front of them is a massive blob of female flesh, grotesque in its size and appearance. "Easy there," the dwarf says behind her as she involuntarily backs up for the first time ever, steadying her with a hand on her waist to keep her from retreating further. "You'll trip on me."

Then the monstrous thing sees them and _shrieks_, chilling her to her very bone. She pulls out her bow and nocks an arrow as tentacles burst from the ground, all around her. The battle is joined.

Afterward, the dwarf who calls herself Hespith gives her chills as she calls that thing a broodmother. It's then that she first realizes why there are not many female wardens. The chance of becoming one of those … _things_ … is pretty high. Oghren casually mentions that on the rare times that a female Grey Warden comes to the Deep Roads for her calling, she is usually accompanied by at least two men. She realizes that Oghren is far more perceptive than he lets on, and that his bluster serves as camouflage for something much deeper.

**Occasional** reports make their way north to the Free Marches about the situation in Ferelden, but largely the normal communication channels are silent. The country is obviously still in turmoil, and the reliability of what he does hear is suspect. An arling full of walking dead? Werewolves? Abominations rampant in the Circle of Magi? A walking, talking statue? He finds the possibility of any these things happening improbable, let alone all of them. Having them happen simultaneously? He thinks not.

More worrisome are the more infrequent reports of the civil war. Some say Loghain and his father are traitors, some say that the Arl of Redcliffe is preparing for a coup, and others still that the Grey Wardens are under the control of Orlais, trying to invade the country. It's hard to know what to believe. Occasional whispers reach his ears, saying that his father is an evil, cruel man, and that he is responsible for the worst of the rumors. He finds this hard to believe. After all, this is his _father_ that people are talking about. He just wishes that mail was being delivered – with each passing day, his worry for his sister and the rest of his family increases. He's never gone this long without hearing from Delilah.

"**Sod** it," he grumbles, turning his flagon upside down to make sure it is completely empty. He had been trying to ration himself, really he had, but things took longer than he thought they would. And then he saw Branka, and then he helped _kill_ Branka. That was the worst. He thought he was doing pretty badly, then he saw how unhinged she'd become.

He studies the Warden a moment as she rests, leaning her back against the rock and closing her eyes while the boy puts his arm around her shoulders. She smiles and scoots closer to the kid. He decides that she's a good sort. None of the other dwarves will put up with him anymore, but she just nodded when he asked to join her and actually listened to him when he had something to say. He can't remember the last time that someone did that. And most women would have run away screaming, seeing a broodmother for the first time. She took the thing head-on even though it was a really nasty surprise for her. He doesn't know what they're teaching Grey Wardens these days if she had never heard of a broodmother before. He shakes his head. At least the Wardens are still teaching their recruits how to fight. Those two are worth about five dwarves apiece in the damage they do.

He looks down at his flagon again, willing it to fill itself. He wonders if the mage can conjure up something to put in the flagon. That'd be a nifty trick. He really _needs_ a drink right about now, after the day he's had.

Suddenly, a bottle appears in front of his face. He looks up to see the Warden holding a bottle of something that looks expensive. "I found this," she says and hands it to him. He looks at her, disbelieving. No _Oghren you shouldn't drink?_ No _Too bad, you had too many already?_ She smiles a little, her eyes looking a lot older than what he thinks is her actual age. Her voice drops to a whisper as she says, "I thought you might need to take the edge off. Now is probably the _worst_ time to get on the wagon, eh?" She smiles at him as she says it. He knows she understands. That's saying a lot.

He uncorks the bottle and drinks a large swig from it. The stuff is pretty good, and he tells her so. She nods and smiles. "I guess we should get back," she says as he pours the rest into his flagon and tosses the bottle off to the side. "We have a king to crown." He gets up and nods. He decides that if she'll let him, he'll join their group and see what's what. He'll get to swing a weapon that way at least.

**Petra** doesn't come to his cell this week. Instead, Irving arrives, books in hand, and the templar with him brings a chair for the First Enchanter to sit on. He exchanges last week's books for these ones, thanking the mage quietly for bringing him his only connection to the outside world. He eyes the bottle of ink and the quill that Irving hands him. _That's new_. Then, he waits. Irving obviously wants to talk to him if he's bothering to sit down.

Irving clears his throat, then starts. "Fairly soon, the able-bodied mages will be joining the Grey Warden's army to combat the blight. I will need your help."

He raises an eyebrow. "You're going to let me out of the tower?"

Irving shakes his head. "No. Greagoir and I have decided to keep you here. You will be helping to mind the young apprentices. I wish I could trust you to stay with us as we leave, but you know why this cannot be so."

He does understand, but at the same time the thought of being able to _do_ something, to get out and be _useful_, even just a bit, pushes the words out of his mouth. "What if I swore to you I wouldn't try to escape while the army fights?"

Irving, again, shakes his head. "Greagoir would never allow it. And I agree with him on this. It's too bad. Apart from Wynne, you're the best healer we have."

"Then let me be of use!"

"You will be. I expect you to protect the tower alongside the templars, should the darkspawn come here." He stands and the templar who came down with him picks up the chair. "You will also teach the healing and herbalism classes." Without waiting for an answer, he turns and leaves.

He sighs and looks down at the books Irving has brought him. He notes that they are all textbooks. Included with the books is a sheaf of vellum. _So I get to write lesson plans._ He opens the first book to the marked page and gets started since he has nothing better to do. He's certainly _not_ going to be engaging in the usual _personal time_ that he allows himself after Petra has come to visit.


	9. The Archdemon

**Her **eyes connect with his. _My lo- No, my King._ She keeps needing to remind herself of that. His eyes are sad too, but the resolve in them shatters her heart every time she sees it. _It's over. It's over. Have to move on._ Maybe if she tells herself that enough, she will start to believe that she _can_ move on. If she survives today, which she does not necessarily plan to. She nods at him.

Alistair joins her at the gate, readying himself to go through with her and see this to the end. It's the right thing to do, and it's appropriate. After all, he has made this entire journey with her, start to finish.

Then she looks to Wynne and nods at her. Her silent instructions repeat between them unspoken. "Take care of the King. _He_ must live. Without him, all is lost. I only need to be alive long enough to slay the archdemon. Protect _him_." Those were the words she quietly spoke to the older mage when they had found a quiet moment, before this final battle started. And it will be a final battle, either for them or for the archdemon. Wynne nods, indicating she understands and will do as she is asked. She also joins the group going into the city.

"Morrigan." The younger mage and Alistair are the only unsurprised people. After all, Morrigan is the one who came up with this … idea … in the first place. Morrigan already knows to keep herself alive, no matter what. The witch has not gone with them on excursions much, which is what surprises the others. Some of them, particularly Leliana, look a little disturbed by this turn of events. But then the Orlesian looks at Alistair and sees his lack of surprise, and realizes that there is a plan. She relaxes a little. Morrigan nods and stands with the others. _I know we never got to be friends, but I do respect you. I am glad I have earned your respect as well. _Morrigan sees the look and nods at her in acknowledgment.

"Oghren, you've led troops before. You're in charge here." She watches him stand a little straighter once the words sink in, and she nods at him. She trusts him to keep their friends here alive.

The remaining members of their odd group say good-byes. She reassures them that they are as needed here as the ones she is taking with her. Then, they leave.

**Maric** had another son? The news spreads like wildfire, even in the Free Marches. Maric had a second son, who is now the King of Ferelden. And apparently King Alistair is also a Grey Warden. Not much else is known for certain; the news that comes in is sporadic at best. Apparently there is an army, collected by the King and another Grey Warden, to fight the darkspawn. He hopes it is enough.

The only other news that comes arrives via a letter, dated months ago. He is surprised that he received anything at all. His father wrote him to tell him that Mother had passed. He reads the note, carefully folds it, and goes to his room where he spends the rest of the night mourning.

**He** watches her face as she chooses the group that she will lead into the city itself. Every move she makes is mechanical. She seems detached from everyone, and has since the boy left her. _That idiot kid shouldn't have dumped her in front of everyone. Even _I_ know not to do that and I'm no good with women._ He's still mad at the boy – what kind of man just drops the woman who he says he loves, right after she's given him everything? He shakes his head.

She looks at him now. "Oghren, you've led troops before. You're in charge here." She nods at him as he looks at her, surprised. _She trusts me to do that?_ He feels a surge of pride and stands a little straighter.

When they each say goodbye to her, he looks at her more closely. Something about her face looks familiar. He's seen that expression before, but can't figure out where. His turn comes and he talks to her. He reminds her that she is the first person to have faith in him in a long time, and that he sees her as family. She nods.

After she has said goodbye to everyone, she turns silently and her group follows as she makes her way through the city gates. Seeing the set of her shoulders, determined but resigned, he finally realizes where he's seen that look before. He's seen it during Legion of the Dead induction ceremonies. _By the ancestors, she's not planning on coming back!_ He almost chases after her, but that would dishonor her. She's a warrior, after all, and a damn good one at that. He can't blame her for wanting a warrior's death.

The damn elf sidles up to him. "I am worried for our friend," he says quietly. "I do not think we will be seeing her again in one piece."

He grunts. "You noticed too, huh?" He takes out his flagon and pulls a stiff drink. After a minute, he offers Zevran the flagon. The elf takes it from him with a nod of thanks and gets a good drink before handing it back. "If the Ancestors or Maker or whatever do watch over her, she's gonna need someone to take care of her."

"Not to worry, my friend," the Antivan replies. "I will make sure she is not alone."

He nods. "Let me know if you need help. I owe her."

Zevran nods also. "We all do."

He replaces the flagon at his side then turns around to the others. "Let's go kill some darkspawn!" he shouts as he draws his axe. He starts shouting instructions on how he wants the gates guarded.

**Bored**, bored, bored. The halls of the tower are nearly empty of mages, save for the children and the particularly old. There is one mage who is about to give birth as well. She waddles about as best she can. The templars are _everywhere_ though.

It figures that he wasn't needed to teach until the very _day_ before his sentence was over. _So much for time off for good behavior._ He restlessly taps his fingers on his desk. _I suppose I should write more lesson plans, or patrol the halls, or something._ He wishes that Irving would have let some of the young, pretty women stay. That would have been something, at least, and having gone an entire year without female companionship is causing him to be _cranky_. As it is, just having someone his own age to talk to would have been nice. The templars aren't exactly chatty types, especially since the whole abomination thing happened. He misses Mr. Wiggums. The cat didn't talk back, but at least he was good company.

He doesn't feel like reading. He doesn't feel like being alone either. Having a year of alone time all at once is more than enough for him for the rest of his life. Sighing, he gets up from the chair and dusts off his robes. Maybe he can entertain the kids or something. Oh, hey, maybe that dwarf from Orzammar isn't busy. Deana? Dana? He can never remember her name. But she's all right as long as he doesn't get her started on magical theory. Maybe he can ask her what Orzammar is like again. She's always got good stories about that. He heads to the library to seek her out.


	10. 2 months After the Archdemon

**Fergus** was standing there. He spoke to her pleasantly enough at first, but then the accusations started. First, it was questions about why she didn't save Oriana and Oren, then he shouted at her because Father and Mother were dead. He shook his fist at her, shouting, "YOU SHOULD HAVE HELPED THEM! YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED INSTEAD!" His face twisted into something monstrous as she ran.

The next thing she knew she was outside. The body of a genlock was lying on the ground. She approached it cautiously, then something compelled her to turn it over. When she saw its face, she gasped. The face was a baby with Alistair's eyes …

She is shaking. No, wait, she's being shaken_._ An insistent voice calls to her. "Elissa, wake up. You must awaken, my dear." She opens her eyes, panicking until she recognizes the voice.

"Zev," she groans. "I'm sorry." With his help, she sits up and takes a sip from the cup of water he is presenting to her. "Was I screaming again?"

He shakes his head. "No, this time there were no screams. I had come in to make sure you were sleeping. I was afraid you might fall out of bed with the thrashing, however." He takes the cup back from her and sets it on the bedside table, then turns back to her. He strokes her cheek. "And there is no need to apologize, my dear. I only wish that I could prevent the dreams for you."

She leans into his hand, grateful for the comfort. "They're terrifying," she admits. "And this is getting ridiculous. I mean, it's been every night since ..." she fails to complete the sentence. He nods in understanding.

"What you need, my dear, is to find something to do during the day." This is a discussion they have had before. But she's so _tired_ and doesn't want to repeat it. So, instead of continuing the usual pattern of this talk, she takes a different approach.

"Zev … I have no purpose now. I feel like there's nothing for me." She looks down at her hands. They're twisting in her lap, as they often do when she's upset or nervous. "All that time, I had things to do and we had all our friends with us, and now ..." She shrugs. "Except for you, everyone else is _gone._ I know it's foolish, but when everyone left, I felt like all I did meant nothing. And all I do here is keep you from sleeping through the night." She absently touches the scar on her abdomen through her nightgown. "I have nothing to offer anyone, Zev. Maybe it's better if I just … go away."

At this, she feels him stiffen. Then surprisingly strong hands turn her shoulders to face him and he moves one hand under her chin, forcing her to look up at him. For the first time since she's known him, he looks _angry_.

"You," he says quietly, anger coursing through his tone, "are the one person in all of Thedas who should _never_ believe those words. Even _thinking_ them is ridiculous. Having something to offer does not mean that you have to _make babies_, or solve everyone else's problems." He studies her face and his anger softens. "I worry about you. And for you to make me worry about something, to understand that life can be precious, that alone is worth your weight in gold." He draws her into a hug, and she can feel his heart beating in his chest. The feeling is soothing. He strokes her hair as he continues. "You have much to offer, my darling. You are at odds now because you are not used to rest. And trust me when I say you deserve to rest after the past many months." He pauses. "You are my best friend, my dear. You know this." He waits for her to nod before he continues. "For someone like me, who grew up being taught that he is worthless, to have a friend such as you is a miracle."

They remain like that for a few minutes, then she speaks. "Thank you, Zev."

He chuckles. The sensation of feeling the laugh in his chest is not unpleasant. "I should be thanking you, my dear. Now, we should both try to sleep. In the morning, I will go to Isabela and see what she has to offer for work. Perhaps you should come join us at the docks." His usual carefree tone is back. He helps her get under the covers and strokes her hair one last time before returning to his room. She manages to sleep through the rest of the night with no more dreams.

**He** makes camp for the night in a sturdy bough of a large tree. He's making good time, having passed Cumberland several days ago. His plan of following the coastline instead of taking the highway has paid off thus far, especially since he doesn't wish for any sort of company.

Today would have been the day that he would have been released from his squiring normally, had … _things _… worked out differently. He replays the events in his mind – being called to his lord's study, being told that he was released because his father had been declared a traitor. He snorts to himself in disgust. It would have been nice if the lord had had the decency to pay for a ship home, so he wouldn't have to walk. At least he got to keep his things when he was kicked out.

_The lies people tell to justify their actions. __This Cousland says that Teyrn _Loghain_ is a traitor, and my father along with him, and executes them both just to let Maric's bastard take the throne? Ridiculous. Just you wait, Cousland. Vengeance will be mine. I will make sure that justice is served upon your treacherous head._ He sneers. _The Hero of Ferelden. _

He figures it will be another month or so before he reaches the Heartlands, where he should be able to cross the river and start making his way through the rest of Orlais. He eventually falls into a half-sleep, resting just enough to not wear himself down the next day.

"**Elissa.** If it's a girl I want the nugget to be named Elissa." They are picking out baby names. Felsi looks at him speculatively. "What, woman?"

"What if it's a boy?"

"How about you pick the name if the baby is a boy. That way it'll be even." He gets up and grabs a bottle from the cabinet.

"Oghren, you promised you would cut down!"

"I am cutting down, Fels. I only got _one_ bottle out this time. And it's not even full." He swirls the bottle for effect. "This is to celebrate the nugget." He opens the bottle and takes a swig. "You want some?"

"No, thanks, Oghren. You usually have enough for both of us." Felsi just shakes her head. He suspects she doesn't want to argue right now. "When do you have to report back to the army?"

"I don't have to be back until morning. Captain said I could stay at home tonight and … hehe … get some _quality time_ in." He waggles his eyebrows.

She smiles despite herself. "Okay, but you need to clean up before dinner. You smell like nug droppings after tramping around in whatever it was you were walking in today." She returns to the stove where something tasty-smelling is cooking.

"Can do!" He walks to their bedroom and sits down on the edge of the bed. He takes another swig from his bottle and opens the letter that arrived today from the elf.

_My foul-smelling friend,_

_The nightmares continue, but they are getting a little bit better. I hope that this means that she is starting to deal with things. But it will be a long journey, I am afraid. She is still dealing with too much, between Alistair leaving her and the mess with the Archdemon._

_She met with the Orlesian Wardens the other day, I believe to discuss the events during the Blight. Apparently there is some debate about how the Archdemon was killed. But, when they were leaving, I noticed that they seemed impressed with her. I asked her what she said to them, and she said, "I told them the truth. And then I reminded them that Wardens do whatever it takes to stop the Blight." She seemed surprised that they were not angry. I do not know why. I did not ask her further what that meant. But her discussion with them did take some of the stress away._

_I will let you know if the situation changes._

_-Zev_

He folds the letter and puts it with his weapon. _I'll write back in the morning. _Then he strips down to his smallclothes and starts washing up.

**Templars** are not the brightest. He would think that they would avoid discussing phylactery locations right in the middle of the library, but … no. He pretends to pay attention to his book while they continue.

"When do you leave for Amaranthine?" the first one asks.

"Tomorrow. Greagoir said there are a bunch of them to take this time, so I'll be taking extra men with me to make sure they're guarded." He groans. "I have to take _Carroll_."

He can practically hear the first templar roll his eyes. "Carroll? _Lucky_ you. I swear that boy needs his lyrium adjusted. I wonder when they'll return the cache to Denerim?"

There is a pause, then the second one replies. "It might be a while. A lot of the city got destroyed pretty badly. I think security is compromised there. They'll keep it there until next year, at least."

_Good to know_, he thinks. He tunes out the rest of the conversation as he plans what he will need for this escape. He knows just what to do. He smiles. _Freedom at last. I can't wait._

Later that day, he drops a note to where Namaya said she stays while in Denerim. He hopes that it gets to her. He could really use her help once he gets out.


	11. 5 Months After the Archdemon

**She** can't face Highever. Not yet. Not for a long time. Seeing Fergus would ease the loneliness now that Zev has left. But he's at the family castle and she just can't go there. The wounds have not yet healed and she doesn't know if they ever will.

She looks at the letters spread across her desk. There's the invitation from Fergus. She already knows how she will respond to that one. There is the older note, from Zevran, explaining that he is only leaving temporarily. His note promises that he will return as soon as he clears up the last bit of Crow business, and that she needs to stay strong so he still has a best friend and a reason to come back. There is the contract that she signed with Ignacio giving Zev his freedom. Zev never got to see it because he left the day she signed it. She wishes she could contact Zev to let him know. She worries for his safety.

Then there is the order from Weisshaupt. She picks it up and rereads it. She will be the new Commander of the Grey in Ferelden? She does not feel worthy of the title. After all, the last Commander was Duncan. She only knew him for a short while, but he was so imposing, so sure of himself, so _impressive_. She doesn't know if she can do it. Maybe she could have before, but now …

She folds the missive and stares at the blank wall. She thinks about what Father and Mother would have wanted her to do. _A Cousland always does her duty. _She sighs and plans what she will take with her. Her escort is supposed to arrive within the next couple of weeks.

**Ferelden**. It's his homeland, or at least it used to be before _they_ destroyed his family. After spending a third of his life away from this country, the rhythm of the speech he hears in the tavern sounds strange. He has decided to take his supper here, having been able to make some silvers scavenging cheap armor and weapons from darkspawn stragglers who crossed his path.

He sits at the bar so that he can more readily overhear the conversations. He listens as the gossips discuss current affairs. The word is that the Grey Wardens have been granted his family home in Amaranthine, and that the King announced that the Ferelden Warden Commander is none other than the Hero of Ferelden. The consensus is that this is nothing more than justice, seeing how his father had slaughtered the entire Cousland family in their beds. He keeps his face impassive, but inside he seethes as the rumormongers continue to discuss supposed sins that his father has committed. He hears the words _slavery_, _torture,_ and _manipulation._ His family's name, when spoken, is always accompanied by a sneer or outright anger. He discovers that he has lost his appetite.

His path is still laid out before him, but doubt sets in. While spreading rumors distorts facts, the truth does not normally change to this extent. Could he have been wrong about Father? He shakes his head. _No_. This sort of doubt will only weaken his resolve. He gets up and pays for his food, then sets out into the night. He must go to his childhood home and face his father's _murderer_. Only then will he receive the answers he needs.

_Not long now, Father. I will show the world what it means to be a Howe. Our family's honor will be restored, even though I may be the last of our line._

**He** is almost there. It's maybe two more days to the keep. He decides to camp here for the night and drops his pack. The first thing he does is get the top bottle from the pack and take a long drink.

The problem with traveling alone is that a man has too much sodding time to _think_. This has never been his favorite pastime on the best of days. Right now, when his personal life has fallen apart, yet again, it's a curse brought down by the Ancestors themselves.

_The nugget is due any day now. I hope Fels is all right. If she hadn't kicked me out ..._

Then he shakes his head. He's a _warrior_, dammit. He's not able to sit idle and go without fighting. Felsi should have understood that. She kept trying to turn him into a lazy bum, when she should have known he would never be content sitting in front of a fireplace every night reading books and practicing his manners. If she had understood him, instead of trying to change him, then she would have accepted that instead of making him leave. Well, this way he can keep his promise to the elf to help out the Warden. That's something. Right?

He gets out Zevran's letter and rereads it. He mumbles to himself as he reads. "Crows … back when I can … watch her … fragile." He shakes his head in disgust when he puts the note back in his pack. "She's a sodding warrior. She doesn't know what fragile _means_," he says to nobody in particular as he gets out his bedroll.

**This** city is a lot smaller than Denerim. It's still better than one of those small villages that the templars could easily spot him in, but he's still a bit uncomfortable being here. At least there aren't templars patrolling the gates along with the city guards.

He looks at the map that Namaya left at her Denerim hideout for him to find. She is supposed to be here, looking for clues to the location of the phylactery cache for him. The only problem is he wants to enter the city without notice and the guards stationed throughout are refusing to allow entry to most people. He's already checked the entrances to the city that are marked on the map, and they are heavily guarded.

He decides to wait in an abandoned house outside the city. With his Tevinter-style robes it's still obvious that he's a mage, although he doesn't look like he's from the Circle. He will wait another few days and then try to sneak into the city when the guard changes. Maybe he will avoid detection for long enough to find Namaya and, hopefully, his freedom.


	12. Meetings and Impressions

**While** normally she would advocate blockading a door during an attack, in this case it is horribly frustrating. The door is blockaded on the other side, which makes sense but is keeping them from entering the keep.

"We will have to figure out a way around," she says to the young woman behind her on the steps.

"If we go up the other steps, I believe there is a passage through the battlements." She takes Mhairi's word for it. They turn around and go up the larger staircase across the courtyard. At the door, she pauses.

_There are darkspawn on the other side._

"Be ready," she warns, and then throws open the door, running to meet the creatures whose darkness she carries within herself.

There are darkspawn. Or rather, there is one darkspawn who is dying at the hands of a tall man with flames shooting out of his hands. He turns around and she sees his face, and it's as if he has just punched her in the gut. _Did Maric have _more_ children that have been unrecognized?_

He's startled to see someone there, but recovers quickly. He wields sarcasm like a sword, which actually makes her smile a little. He also explains who and what he is immediately. He is neither ashamed of himself nor worried about what she might think of him. It's a refreshing change from all the posturing and politics she's dealt with her entire life. Standing behind her, Mhairi seems less impressed. "An apostate? At Vigil's Keep?" She can hear the disapproval in the young woman's voice.

She rolls her eyes, frustrated. _This girl sees too much of the world in black and white. _Grey_ Wardens, remember? There are circumstances to be considered in nearly every situation._ The mage is watching her and seems to recognize her annoyance at Mhairi's statement. He smiles and then cheerfully offers to help them fight off the attack.

_I think I like this man._

**Caged.** Like an animal. The guards have been bringing him food and water until they missed dinner tonight. Then again, the whispers among the guards as they change shift provide the reason that they have forgotten. Darkspawn have attacked the keep and it was a surprise attack. Everything is in an uproar.

The Commander has arrived, however, and has driven off the darkspawn. The guards talk about her battle prowess in awed tones. They also mention how she saved the life of the seneschal and an apostate and that she's _friends_ with the obnoxious, drunken dwarf that they keep discussing.

At any rate, he wonders how long it will take her to come to his cell here in the dungeon and order his execution. That will be the logical conclusion most people would make given the circumstances. He has failed in his quest to restore his family's honor. At least he can confront her with her crimes against his family. He can force her to look into his eyes and acknowledge what she has destroyed before he dies.

Later that evening, she comes to see him in his cell. He recognizes her as soon as she walks into the dungeon. _The tattoos are new._ The idle thought surprises him. This is not what is important right now. Neither is his last thought, unwanted as it may be, before the questioning begins. _She is still beautiful._

**It** figures that darkspawn would attack the keep. Knowing the way that Elissa's life seems to work, he figures that she must be due any time now. _Kid can't catch a break_. Still, him being here can only help. For all their reputation, the Orlesian Wardens have obviously not been fighting darkspawn at all recently. Even when taken by surprise, they should have been able to do more against the invaders. He's out of shape and drunk (well, more drunk than usual), and so far has done more damage than anybody else.

His axe makes a satisfying _squish_ across the stomach of a hurlock as he makes his way to the emissary in the corner. Dwarven resistance to magic certainly helps with these sorts of things. He gets there and hacks the emissary into pieces, then works his way into the next room. He charges up the ramp and prepares to fight the room when he hears the door open.

He grins when he sees her enter. _Atta girl._ He waves before turning back to handle the darkspawn in front of him. He hears Elissa and her companions clear out everything behind him.

When it's all done, he stands at the end of the upper level and talks to them. It's weird to be looking _down_ at other people, but it helps him see her face better as he looks her over. Elissa is a lot skinnier than she was the last time he saw her. Her face is gaunt and stressed, and her eyes look too old, but that lets up a little as he taunts the mage and the too-serious shield. When she says, "I'm glad to see you," he can tell she means it.

They gather and she assigns them their battle roles, and despite her obvious exhaustion, she takes off to find the next group of darkspawn. They can barely keep up with her, she's so quick.

_That's the warrior I know. She's tough._

**She** makes a sound of frustration as the arrow hits a hurlock fifty feet away in the neck. "Out of practice," she mutters to herself. He stops and looks at her in disbelief. He doesn't know anything about archery, but to him it looked like a perfect shot. He says as much.

She was aiming for the eye.

"Um, all right then," he says, unsure how to respond. She smiles grimly and moves forward to take the lead.

He watches her as they continue through the rest of the keep. It's not hard since she is usually right next to him or just in front of him. The exception is when she starts clearing out a side room alone as the others are engaged in a battle with several darkspawn in a main hall. _Ambushing the ambushers. Nice. I wonder how she knew they were there?_

She doesn't say much as they fight. When she does, it's usually a word or two of quiet instruction or a shift in strategy based on a change on the battlefield. The insight she has on how mages can use their talents amazes him, especially since everything she suggests really works.

"How do you know so much?" he asks during a lull in the fighting.

She shrugs. "I pay attention," she says simply. There is no arrogance in her tone; this is just a statement of fact for her. She moves forward.

_She must be really smart._


	13. Training

**She **watches the soldiers sparring for a while, then decides she needs to get back in practice herself. She fetches her bow and comes back to the courtyard, putting herself at a good distance from the training dummy.

Too soon, her muscles start to feel like they're on fire. Sweat collects on her brow and slides down her back, and when she has the bowstring pulled taut, her hands are shaking. _Out of shape. This is not good. If I had been this weak when the castle was taken..._ She fails to complete the thought, abruptly putting down her bow. She struggles to control her expression. _Not now. Can't lose control now. Too much depends on me._

As she has done for too long now, she pushes the grief and anger back down and locks it away for another time. She closes her eyes and wills each muscle in her face to relax, then wipes the sweat from her face. She brings the bow back up into position then nocks an arrow. The short break allows her to fire a few more shots before her shoulders are screaming and her hands shaking again, but she forces herself to push through it. _Must. Get. Stronger._ She doesn't allow herself to think about castle Cousland, or Ostagar, or the Landsmeet, or the Archdemon, and instead tries to lose herself in the rhythm of the shooting.

**He** notes, not with a small amount of satisfaction, that she is struggling. He watches her out of the corner of his eye. It's a wonder she can shoot at all with the amount of tension her body is carrying at the moment. He continues shooting at his target dummy, his body automatically firing arrow after arrow.

He looks at her surreptitiously again. He notes that she has lowered her bow and has her eyes closed. A look of pure and utter grief crosses her face, her face twisting in pain, before she takes a deep breath and a mask of calm covers what lies inside. If he hadn't looked at that precise moment, he would have thought nothing was amiss.

_Blast it. I don't care._ _Not my business. _He stubbornly turns his attention back to his practice and lets the arrows fly. Nearly every one strikes true.

**Sweat** pours down his face, but he doesn't notice. The soldiers in front of him have occupied his full attention.

"Listen, you nughumpers! If you wanna _live_ through an attack you can't let your sodding guard down!" His voice carries over those assembled before him as he picks up a wooden blade. "Let me show you how it's done."

He picks one of the young men from the front row and points to the rack of wooden weapons. The kid nervously picks up a two-handed sword and faces him. "Now, it's all fine and good to swing your sword or axe or whatever around, but if you don't block anything coming at you, it doesn't matter how accurate you are!" He motions for the soldier to attack him. "Do your worst, kid."

The young man prepares and starts a massive swing. Despite the kid's enormous size compared to his dwarven height, he easily parries the blow and sends the kid sprawling. Then he turns around and follows through his own swing at the same time, ending with the edge of his wooden blade against the kid's neck. "One shot," he says simply. The kid's eyes are wide, and he nods in understanding.

"Okay, here's what you gotta do." He starts to demonstrate the right technique to teach these _soldiers_ how to live long enough to do some damage. _Elissa wasn't kidding when she said these kids need work. If I was a darkspawn I'd have run them all through by now. Good thing she asked me to train 'em._ Time passes and he never notices that he's gone three hours without alcohol.

**Concentrating** on getting just to the next corner, he keeps telling himself that it's not much farther until he gets there. He then turns the corner, panting, as he sets his next goal. _Keep moving. Keep moving._ The advice may have been sound, but he's _exhausted._

"If you have to use your spells to keep your energy up," she had said, "when you really need your mana you might be short. So it's just as important to have good stamina, so you don't _need_ to rejuvenate yourself."

He has to stop now. He can't move another inch without feeling like his lungs will burst. He puts his hands on his knees and pants, looking at the ground. _In theory, this should help my concentration too. But _Maker_, this is tiring! Stupid Circle._ He knows that having lived in a tower until now (well, between escapes) has given him a huge disadvantage, and he needs to make up for it. As soon as he catches his breath, he starts jogging again. _You can do this. If the dwarf can run, so can you._ He starts the mantra again. _Keep moving. Keep moving._


	14. The First Trip to Amaranthine

"**Do** you see her?" she asks quietly as Nathaniel looks around anxiously. He searches the crowd, then stops as he sees a dark-haired woman bending over a merchant's table. He then purposefully strides forward.

She watches him reach the woman and say something to her. The woman turns around and her face lights up as she closes the distance between them and hugs him. The two talk a moment and then they walk off together, his arm around her shoulder.

She lets out the breath that she doesn't realize she's been holding until this point. _He'll catch up with us later. I am glad that things seem to be all right._ She just hopes that his sister will not begrudge him his involvement in the Grey Wardens and his commander's role in Rendon's death. _What a mess it would be if the entire Howe family hated me._

She turns to Oghren and Anders. "Let's get some supplies while we're here." She turns back and starts to walk away.

**He** studies his sister. She looks radiant. _The years have treated her well_. She's no longer an awkward girl of thirteen and has turned into a lovely woman. She recognizes him immediately, which is no small feat. The last time they saw each other he was a foot shorter and weighed half of what he does now.

They hug and speak for a minute. He learns that she has married for love and a small part of him twinges in jealousy even as he is glad that her husband makes her happy. _Happiness has been far too elusive for us, hasn't it, dear sister? _The next thing she says, however, completely throws him. He is sure that his shock shows on his face. _What does she mean by Father's evil?_ He protests, then she turns serious and invites him to sit with her so that they can really talk.

His head is spinning as he walks with Delilah. _I can't have been wrong about Father. It's not possible to be _that_ wrong, is it?_ He is glad that he will finally have some answers about what really happened during the war, but he also worries that he might not like what he is about to hear.

**He** glances up at Elissa's face while she leads them around the city. _She's quieter than normal. _He recognizes her expression – it looks like the way he felt when he was still living in Orzammar and had nobody to talk to. _She's stuck inside her own head. That's no good._

He remembers when they traveled together during the blight, and how Zevran would randomly start teasing someone in the group. His personal favorites were when the elf would comment on Wynne's rack. _Hehe, good times._ Then he finally _gets_ it. Whenever that damn elf would start in on someone, it always kept him from thinking too much. He looks slyly over at the mage, who is himself lost in thought.

He takes a long pull from his flagon, then starts in. "So, mage, huh? What's it like?"

The mage blinks at him, then takes the bait. "To have all this power at my fingertips?"

He looks over at his commander. Her face doesn't give much away; it never has. But he can detect a little bit of interest. _Good, she's paying attention._

He harasses Anders, who thankfully can give as good as he gets. He sees the hint of a smile on Elissa's face. _Heheh, it's working._

The mage looks at him like he's insane after a couple more attempts at distraction. He tilts his head toward Elissa when she's not looking and grins, then starts in again. Anders raises an eyebrow and looks at her, then smiles and nods slightly. _The kid gets it. Let's do this. _They spend the rest of the afternoon amusing themselves, and their commander, with insults and jokes.

_I owe you one, elf. And you too, mage._

**Namaya** found the cache! He can scarcely believe his good luck. _And _she waited for him to tell him where it was! _Maybe I'll actually be free from the Chantry's control after all these years. _He counts back. _Maker's breath! It's been nearly half my life since I first got dragged to that awful place._

It's too bad that Namaya doesn't want to see him anymore. He really enjoyed her company. It's not his fault he got captured again, is it? She says something weird to the commander about him and sweet talk. He doesn't even _want_ to know what that's about. Unless...does Namaya think he's been with Elissa … like _that_?

_Well, that would be just a _bit_ awkward, wouldn't it? It'd also explain why she's acting like she's angry with me._

He turns to face his commander after Namaya stalks off. _Please help me with this. Please, please, please. Knowing they can come for me at any time is going to _kill_ me. _He knows he's being melodramatic in his head, but he still feels the need to make his case to Elissa. He _wants_ that phylactery really badly.

She looks at him after he asks for a minute as she considers his request. She agrees to help him. It takes all his willpower not to drag her directly to the warehouse that the phylacteries are stored in right then. _Thank you, thank you, thank you! I'll be free soon!_


	15. Nightmare

**Panicked,** her eyes fly open of their own accord, the nightmare still playing in her mind as her body jerks into an upright position. But thank the Maker, _he_ is here, all golden skin and hair, looking at her with deep concern in his eyes.

She throws her arms around him, practically dragging him to her. She gasps his name, "Alistair..."

But, wait.

Something isn't right. Her hands are catching on shoulder-length hair. The muscles of his shoulders should be bulkier, shouldn't they? And instead of his normal smell of sweat and armor grease, there's a faint lyrium scent. The stubble against her cheek is soft, as if it has seen several days' growth, instead of being scratchy like it would normally be at the end of the day.

Finally, her mind processes her actual circumstances and shock sets in, just as the _wrong_ voice says, "Uh..." She lets go and pushes herself away from him, looking at him with eyes that are suddenly alert.

He's not blushing, or he really _would_ look like … no, don't go there. But he is confused, and rightfully so. She's not the type of woman to literally throw herself into a man's arms. Embarrassment smacks into her, nearly knocking her into the fetal position. She covers her eyes, mortified.

"Anders, I'm so sorry," she whispers. "Nightmare … and I thought … you look …" _Great, just what every man needs. It's just lovely be compared to my former lover._ Despite the thought, she's compelled to explain herself. She takes a deep breath. "Did anyone ever tell you that you and the King could pass for brothers?" Her tone becomes self-mocking. "Because, you know, what _every_ man wants is to have a woman throw herself at him due to a case of mistaken identity." She breathes deeply, then risks a peek at her colleague.

Fortunately, Anders has an excellent sense of humor. "Oh, sure. I get that _all_ the time." He pretends to buff his fingernails. "In fact, I had to start wearing the mage robes and carrying a staff so that people wouldn't get confused." He smiles at her with understanding in his eyes. "But if you want to _really_ compare the two of us, I'll bet there are differences you haven't yet discovered." His smile turns wicked and his eyes twinkle. She has to laugh a little at this.

He changes the subject as he becomes serious. "Are you all right? You were screaming pretty loudly there." He checks her forehead for a temperature. "I thought you were being attacked by something particularly nasty."

She shakes her head. "I'm all right. I just have nightmares a lot. I'm sorry to scare you."

He nods. "Do you want me to use a sleeping spell on you, so you can get some rest?"

She shudders. "NO! … Er, no thanks. Wynne tried that once. It," she gulps a little with the memory, "it didn't … go well. When you can't wake up from the nightmare that's worse than not sleeping at all."

His eyes widen at this. "I guess it would be. Still, you need to try to sleep. Will you be all right?"

She nods. "I … I should be. Um," her voice is unsure, "could I ask a favor?" She continues as he raises an eyebrow and nods. "Could you just … sit with me until I fall asleep?"

"I'll be happy to," he says, and even goes so far as to tuck her in when she lies down. Surprisingly, she doesn't remember anything after that.

**He** skids to a halt when he sees Oghren standing outside of the open door to Elissa's room. "What _was_ that? I heard the screaming all the way from the stairs."

Oghren jerks his hand toward Elissa's door. "Nightmares. The elf warned me she's still having them."

"Still?"

"Yeah." The dwarf lowers his voice. "She's had nightmares almost every night since I've known her. Zevran said she had them before that too. I haven't heard the screaming before, but when we traveled together she was already sharing a tent with Alistair. I guess that helped her some."

"I thought that she said the darkspawn dreams go away after a few months."

Oghren sighs. "These aren't darkspawn dreams. This is something else. The elf said when she dreams of darkspawn she sleeps a lot better. He said these nightmares are her reliving the past or something, I dunno."

_...Oh._ He nods curtly. Unfortunately, he has a good guess as to what her dream was about, if his conversation with Delilah that afternoon was any indication. "You're not in there with her?"

"Eh, the mage got to her room first. He's talking to her or something. I'd just scare her more probably anyway." The dwarf takes a long drink from the bottle that he's holding. "You should go to sleep. I'll stay up until she goes back to sleep and then I'm gonna get really sodding drunk."

He starts to turn, then pauses. "Who or what is Oren?" This is the name he heard her scream in terror as he entered the living quarters at a dead run.

Oghren hesitates, then looks down as he answers. "Oren was her nephew. Fergus Cousland said he died when the family castle was attacked. Said she adored that kid."

He suddenly remembers a day that he had all but forgotten until now. The image of a beautiful girl snuggling and playing with a baby, cooing and laughing at it as little hands reach for her face, nearly knocks him over. He nods and heads to his room, closing the door quietly before sitting down against it and sighing to himself. He's pretty sure he won't sleep any more tonight. He also doesn't know how he's going to face _her _in the morning, especially after the way he's been treating her.

_**This** is the better version of her nightmares? That damn elf must be crazy._ He's still shaken from the sounds of pure terror he's just heard. He'll never admit it to anyone, of course. A true warrior doesn't let things like this get to him. But if anyone had ever told him before now that a human could scream louder than a shriek he'd have told them they were lying. He tips the bottle up and gets another good swig. He wants to drown out the sound that still echoes in his head.

He looks up when he hears the door close down the hall. _It's not your fault, kid. Everybody knows your daddy was a bastard. But you're a better man than he was ever gonna be._ He shakes his head. _Everybody's got problems._ He looks back to Elissa's room. The mage is pulling the blankets over her and sitting next to the bed.

_It figures that she'd pick a kid who looks like that pike-twirler and another kid who reminds her of his daddy to follow her. _He half-smiles at himself._ Then she gets _me_ in there and she's gotta be punishing herself. No wonder she's having nightmares. The elf would be a sodding _improvement_ over the rest of us._

He takes another drink from his bottle then swirls it in front of himself, eyeing its contents suspiciously. _Not enough here to get really drunk on. I'm gonna have to get another bottle._

He steps away from the door as the mage gets up from next to her bed and walks toward him.

**He **runs his hand through his unbound hair. _Well, _that_ was fun. It's always nice to wake up to your commander screaming like she's being disemboweled. _He closes her door quietly behind him as he enters the hallway. The dwarf is still here and has already started drinking. He resists the urge to ask for some. He doesn't think he'll be getting to sleep for a little while. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees her face white with fear.

Wordlessly, the dwarf walks with him down the hall. They stop outside of his room, which is across from Nathaniel's. This should be far enough to talk quietly without waking her up. "Did you know about these nightmares before?" he asks. "She said she has them a lot."

Oghren nods and grabs another drink. "I knew she had 'em, but I never heard the screaming before. Didn't know she was capable of sounding like that." He shrugs. "I'm glad dwarves don't dream, if that's what we'd have to look forward to."

He nods. "This is … unusual. I've never seen or heard anything that scary."

"Yeah, well ..." Oghren empties his bottle and looks at it like he expected more to be in there. "If Rendon Howe and the archdemon wanted to leave a legacy, they did a good job. She's a mess." He sighs. "C'mon, let's get drunk. She doesn't usually wake up again after she gets back to sleep."

"Sounds good to me." He joins the dwarf as they make their way downstairs to find a large bottle of something strong.


	16. Overtures

**_Must._**_ Get. Stronger._ She repeats the mantra as her hand shakes. _They count on me. I have to do this._ She aims and releases. The arrow flies wide.

It takes all her self-control not to throw her bow on the ground right then and there and stomp away. She's getting _worse_ instead of better, despite her strenuous practice. She lowers the bow and closes her eyes, breathing deeply to try to regain her focus.

_What in the Maker's name am I doing wrong?_

"You know, I used to teach archery when I was in the Free Marches," a quiet voice says behind her. She turns around, surprised. She didn't hear Nathaniel approach. He looks at her, hesitant, but presses forward. "If you want, I could take a look and see what's going on."

She studies his face carefully. The offer seems genuine. _Huh. Before we talked about his visit with Delilah, he didn't speak two words to me._ This is the first he's spoken to her since they discussed what happened at Castle Cousland and only the second real conversation they've had since she conscripted him. _Well, I'm not figuring out my problems on my own, and he's certainly a master archer._

She gives him a brief nod. "I've been working on my strength, but it hasn't been helping. I tire too easily and my aim is getting worse."

He glances at the target dummy, then smiles. "If that's a bad day for your aim, I'll be impressed to see your good day." He then indicates her armor. "I'll need to see what's going on. Would you mind removing the cuirass?"

She shrugs. "Why not? I'm wearing padding." She quickly puts down her bow and removes her breastplate. She then picks up the bow and prepares to start. "What first? It's been several years since my last archery lesson."

He nods now, all business. "Go ahead and shoot a few so I can see what you're doing now." She turns and aims five shots at her target. By the fourth one, her hand is shaking again.

He nods. "All right, your form is perfect. The main problem is that you're too tense. You're not only pulling the bowstring, you're fighting your own body when you shoot. Your strength is actually hurting you instead of helping, because you're not loose enough to follow through properly."

She blinks. "Really? That's it?"

"That's it."

"Well, all right then. Let me try again." She sets up and nocks her arrow, then draws.

"Don't shoot yet."

"Why not?"

"You're tense through your shoulders and back. Let's get you loosened up a bit before you try actual shooting."

She's doubtful, but she nods. "All right. What do you suggest?"

He indicates that he wants to put his hands on her shoulders. "Is it all right?" She nods. "Good." He stands behind her and lets his hands rest on her shoulders. "Don't lift your bow yet. Just breathe and focus on my hands."

She closes her eyes and does as he asks. The warmth and weight of his hands calm her, and she can feel the muscles lengthen on their own. After a few moments of this, she's surprised to discover that she naturally takes a deep breath and exhales without prompting. She hears the pleased note in his voice, "Good, that's good. Take your time, but when you're ready nock your arrow and rest a moment."

She enjoys the calm for a minute, then slowly nocks her arrow. She feels his presence shift behind her to allow her the freedom to move. He speaks quietly at her left ear, instructing her as she nocks, then draws, then releases. The arrow flies effortlessly and lodges deep into the target, right in the center of its forehead.

"Very good," he says softly. "Again."

They spend another hour practicing. She finds that his voice and presence continue to soothe her.

By the end of the hour she has replaced _Must. Get. Stronger._ The new mantra is _Relax. Breathe. Shoot._ Her hand has not shaken once, nothing is sore, and she feels more energetic than she has after practicing in years.

**He** watches her struggle with her bow. It's been this way for several days now, and she's not getting any better. He can see her frustration and it's only making her tension worse. Finally, he makes his decision. _I should try. I hope she doesn't take offense at me showing her what she needs to do._ He approaches her and cautiously suggests that he instruct her. To his surprise, she hardly pauses before agreeing.

She turns out to be an excellent student. She listens to him and tries without overdoing it. _Once she becomes comfortable with this approach, she'll be better than me._ He is surprised to find that the thought pleases him and is even more surprised to find that he really enjoys working with her.

When they are finished practicing, she turns to him. "Thank you. You're an excellent teacher." Her face looks serene. "I feel better about shooting than I have in a long time."

He smiles a little. "You're quite welcome. You're doing extremely well." He starts wiping down his bow.

She packs her things and turns to him. She hesitates a moment, then asks, "So, how did you decide on archery? I'm surprised that your father didn't train you in dual weapons or sword and shield."

"I was a small child, so when it came to learning a weapon, a bow seemed to be the logical choice. I could work with it and not worry about getting knocked over all the time." He stands. "I was very short and incredibly skinny until just a few years ago."

She raises an eyebrow. She looks up at his face; he stands several inches taller than her, and she is not short by any means. "Now you're the tallest archer I've seen in some time."

He chuckles. "It works well for me. I like the precision of archery and being tall doesn't hurt when you're trying to shoot at a distance. What about you? What made you choose the bow?"

She looks down for a minute, then smiles a little. "My mother was an excellent archer. I wanted to be just like her, so when the opportunity arose I started taking lessons." She looks up at him and the smile is sweet and sad all at the same time.

"I think that she'd be proud. You are also an excellent archer." Apparently this is the right thing to say. She looks at him with gratitude.

There is a pause. She looks like she's deciding something. Then, she clears her throat. "I have to meet with Varel concerning some arling business. If you're interested ... you could join us? It'd be really good to have someone else with us who understands politics."

He thinks for a moment before responding. "Yes, I'd like that. Thank you for the invitation." She relaxes again and smiles a little. "Let's go."

**He's** finishing up with training the soldiers for today when he notices the mage running around the compound. _What's the kid doing now?_

The next time Anders passes by, he calls him over. "What are you doing? Skirt catch on fire?" He laughs.

Panting, the mage explains that he's trying to work up some endurance for when they run around chasing darkspawn, so he doesn't have to use spells to keep himself going in battle.

"Well, that's a waste of good energy," he declares. "You can get better endurance by learning how to fight."

Anders looks at him like he's crazy. "Me? Fight? As in with a weapon?"

He grumbles. "Lemme see that stick a minute, kid." The mage begrudgingly hands it over. He checks it out. It's solid enough and could be used as a basic melee weapon, like the ones the deshyrs carry in Orzammar. He hands it back.

"Look, if you're gonna be doing all that work anyway, learn something _useful_. That way if you run out of juice you can still defend yourself. Right?" Anders looks at him for a minute, then shrugs. "Right. So let me teach you how to fight with that thing like it was a weapon. You'll still build some muscle and it'll be a damn sight more interesting than running in circles. Go put some pants on, boy, and I'll train you."

Anders leaves the courtyard and comes back a little while later wearing a shirt and breeches and carrying his staff. He spends a couple of hours teaching the kid some basic defense moves and training exercises. Anders is picking up the basic moves all right for a kid who never trained before. He'll never be a warrior, but he should be able to get out of a tight spot if he practices the moves. When they finish, the mage says, "Hey, that was kind of fun. Can you show me some more another time?"

He laughs. "Sure, kid. Come see me tomorrow when I'm done with the sword-slingers." They head off to dinner.

**Where** could the dwarf be? He's looked over most of the keep for him. Hmm, maybe the kitchen. He heads down toward the kitchens and pokes his head in the dining room as he passes it. Ah, there he is. He strolls in. "Look what I found!" He drops the book onto the table, right in front of Oghren.

Oghren eyes it suspiciously. "What's that?"

"This, dwarf, is a book that talks about how to distill things. Specifically, alcoholic things." He watches Oghren's eyes light up. "I thought since you're doing me a favor by helping me with my training, you might want some help to set up your own still. I have extra parts from my herbalism supplies, which should be enough to get us started."

"Well, shave my back and call me a nug! That sounds like a GREAT idea!" Oghren gets up and grabs the book. "Let's go! Time's wasting!"

He laughs. "I put all the other stuff in one of the empty supply rooms." They head out of the dining room and head for the supply room.


	17. Despair

**They** have only just returned from Kal'Hirol and are preparing to go to their rooms to clean up when Felsi arrives. She watches Oghren and Felsi argue. _She must be really angry if she followed him all the way here to yell at him._ Then, Felsi mentions a baby as she turns around and walks out on Oghren.

_Baby? There's a baby? _

She feels her carefully crafted layers of control crumble in an instant. She needs to get away _now._ She manages to appear calm as she walks, but she would rather be running for the safety of her room. Once she arrives, she closes the door and sits on the edge of her bed. The shaking starts and she tries desperately to force down the gorge that is rising of its own volition. She only barely gets herself under control when the door knocks.

**He** sees her lapse in control - her face grows pale and her eyes go wide at the mention of Oghren's child. He debates whether or not he should follow her when she leaves. After a few minutes he decides to take his chances; after all, she was quieter than usual even before the dwarven woman showed up.

He makes his way slowly to her room, figuring that will give her more time to collect herself, then knocks on her door. She answers for him to enter.

When he opens the door, she's sitting on her bed. Her hands are twisting in her lap, but otherwise she appears to be the epitome of calm. He pulls a chair up to sit across from her and waits. After a few minutes, she takes a deep breath and looks up at him. "What can I do for you, Nathaniel?"

"I'm sorry about your family." He ignores her sharp intake of breath and continues. "I can tell you still mourn their deaths and I wanted you to know that I regret my father causing them harm."

Her eyes widen. "No! I don't blame you for that! It's not your fault that he did what he did." She looks at him carefully. "Did you think that I left because of that?"

He nods. "I saw you were upset and thought it was -"

She shakes her head and interrupts him. "No. No, that's not it at all." She sighs. "I mean, I still mourn their passing but largely I've made peace with that, I think. It's … something else."

He raises an eyebrow. "It might help to talk about it."

She shrugs. "I'm not sure if I can do that." She looks miserable as she says this.

He stands and looks down at her. "Look, it's affecting you, obviously. If you let it sit, it will start to affect the rest of us." He hates to put guilt on her but it seems necessary. "If you don't deal with whatever it is, your command will suffer." _There, put it in practical terms. It might make it easier for her to talk._

She stands as well and turns away from him. Her shoulders are incredibly tense and her back is ramrod straight with the effort to maintain control. She takes one deep breath, then another, and finally lets out a shuddering sigh. "Do you remember when I told you about the … problems with being a Warden? Specifically, about having children?"

He nods before he remembers she can't see him. "Yes."

"Well …" she turns slightly, just enough so that he can see her profile. "for me, that is now a moot point."

"Explain." He has no idea what she means by this.

"When we were fighting the archdemon, I ended up striking the killing blow." He starts to speak, but she holds up a hand. "I know, I'm still here, right? That's a story for a different day." She pauses and seems to be collecting her thoughts. "At any rate, those of us close to the archdemon got blasted by … something …its soul? when it died, and we got thrown quite a way from the body. Somehow I flipped and landed face-down. I was run through by a sword that had been lying in a corpse's hands."

He nods when she looks up to see if he's paying attention, encouraging her to continue.

She nods and continues her story. "As you can imagine, that injury nearly killed me. Thankfully I had an amazing healer with me up on the roof of Fort Drakon. She was able to save me, but not without … consequences. The sword had pierced my abdomen. She discovered that," she closes her eyes, "that I was … with child."

His eyes widen in shock. "You didn't know about it before?"

She shakes her head. "I wasn't all that far along and I didn't have much reason to suspect that I was ..." She stops, closes her eyes, and then opens them again. "I had thought the usual symptoms were from my grief over losing Alistair and the stress of the war." He nods. That makes sense, in a way.

"Anyway, when Wynne healed me she found … she found the baby. She wasn't able to heal all the scarring from my injuries either, so I'm … I'm barren." She takes another long, shuddering sigh then laughs, sort of. The brittle, self-mocking sound that escapes her lips can only technically be called a laugh. "The _Hero of Ferelden_ can have anything, except for the only thing she's ever wanted."

He's not sure if he should ask his next question. "Did you ever … tell the King?"

She hesitates before shaking her head. "No. There was no point. At best, it would have been a confirmation of his decision to leave me. I didn't want to cause him more pain. He did what he thought was best at the time, despite our personal desires." She sighs. "The one consolation is that when I talked to some Wardens from Orlais, they said the baby would have died anyway before it was born. It's apparently not unheard of for two Wardens to conceive, but a live birth is a different story." She turns away so that he can't see her face and says softly, "If things had been different, I'd be giving birth about now. I suppose I should be grateful that it died quickly instead of by slow poisoning." She falls silent.

He stands in the silence. _What do you say? Is there a _right_ thing to say to this?_ "I'm sorry." It's inadequate, but it will have to do. She nods.

He turns to leave, but an idea comes to him as he opens the door. "Elissa," she turns to face him at the change in his tone, "there are a lot of children out there who have been orphaned by the war. Maybe you could take one of them in after we finish driving the darkspawn back underground? I know it's not the same, but ..." he gestures vaguely.

Her eyes widen. "I hadn't thought of that," she murmurs. "It's something to consider."

For the first time since he's met her, he sees a glimmer of hope in her eyes.

_**Dammit**,_ _Felsi, you knew I was a screw-up when you married me._ He ignores the look the mage gives him and goes to his room to think. And drink. _I finally got a life that I want, and I feel like I have a sodding place where I belong for the first time in my life. I can't _be_ what Felsi wants me to be. I hated it. But the nugget, I screwed up really big there. The baby's gonna think it's her fault that I left. _He opens a new bottle and gulps down a large portion of it. _ Elissa gave me a chance, she helped me find Felsi, and I blew it. She probably hates me too. She's the only person who ever respected me, and I let her down. _Maybe if he drinks enough it'll make him forget that he's messed up everything good he's ever had in his life. _I hope she can forgive me. I know I don't deserve it, but I got nothing else to live for._ For the first time in several months, he drinks to the point where he blacks out.

_**What** just happened?_ He stands there for a while, looking at the empty room. All he knows is they came in, everyone started to dump extra junk they didn't need, and then an angry dwarven woman came in and nearly took Oghren's head off. After that, everyone just walked off without saying anything.

_It looks like I'll be training alone today. _He quickly goes to his room and changes into breeches and a shirt, then heads to the courtyard to practice the self-defense moves that Oghren has been teaching him. He feels a lot less awkward than he did at first and he's definitely building up some strength. _I might even be able to ward off an attacker someday, say in about four or five years_. He smiles to himself.

He's been practicing for about a half hour when he hears shouting. Nathaniel is running toward him. "Anders! We need you!" He sees Nathaniel's look of worry and starts running toward him. _Nathaniel is usually really calm. What's going on?_

Nathaniel immediately turns around and starts running back. "What is it?" He manages to ask while he tries to keep up.

"It's Oghren. Elissa went to see him and found him. He's passed out. Can't wake him up and he's breathing funny."

"Been drinking?"

"Yes, looks like it. But this is worse than usual."

His eyes widen and he picks up the pace. _Thank the Maker I already have my staff with me._ They run as fast as they can to Oghren's room on the opposite end of the keep.

As soon as they burst through the door he sees Elissa at Oghren's side. She looks really worried. He kneels on the floor and checks the unconscious dwarf. _Looks bad, really bad. _He looks at the bottle._ Maker, that stuff is nearly pure alcohol! He's poisoned himself, to be sure. If we'd been only a few minutes later, he would have ..._

He starts to cast healing spells at him as he turns to Nathaniel. "If you have any antidotes for alcohol poisoning, you might want to get them. I could run out of mana healing him." Nathaniel nods and is out the door before the sentence finishes.

_Stay with us, dwarf. Stay with us._ He focuses as much energy as he can. _Dwarven spell resistance. I'm going to use everything I've got._

After several minutes of constant healing, he's completely out of mana. He checks Oghren again. _He's going to make it._ He sits down hard next to the now-sleeping dwarf just as Nathaniel returns, vials in hand. "He's going to have to sleep the rest off, but he'll live." Elissa and Nathaniel sigh with relief.

He's exhausted, physically and mentally, but he decides to sit up with the dwarf for a while. He spends the time thinking.

After several hours, he hears a groan. Oghren rolls onto his side and is holding his head. He helps the dwarf sit up. "I had too much," the dwarf says, his speech still slurred.

"I'll say. You nearly died."

Oghren looks at him, his eyes not focusing, "What do you mean?"

"I mean that you drank so much that you poisoned yourself. If we'd found you five minutes later you'd have died."

"Ah, sod it!" the dwarf exclaims. "I screwed up _another_ thing?"

"That wasn't the brightest idea you've ever had, dwarf, but you did something right too."

Oghren looks at him, confused. "Huh?"

He smiles at his friend. "I had to run all the way here from the training yard to get to you and then I healed you for several minutes to remove the worst of the toxins from your blood. It took everything I had." The dwarf groans. "However, if this had happened a month ago I would have gotten here a lot slower, had to cast rejuvenation spells on myself, and would have run out of mana long before I would have been able to cure you." He stands and smiles. "Your training paid off, Oghren. But don't make me do it again or I'm putting you in one of my _dresses_ while you're passed out."

He gets Oghren a drink of water and then bids the dwarf goodnight. As he leaves, he hears a gruff chuckle behind him. "Did something right? Better not let it go to my head." He closes the door and heads to his own room.


	18. Enlightenment

**Paperwork.** She really hates paperwork. At least Mistress Woolsey is finished for the day – going through the treasury reports is as much fun as pulling teeth. She wonders how Fergus handles it without going crazy.

_Fergus. How are you doing? Is it getting any better?_ She sighs and puts her elbows on the desk, smoothing out the lines that she's sure are permanently etched on her forehead. _I will try to visit as soon as I can. I'm not ready just yet. But I hope to be soon._

She gives up on the dreaded ledgers and scrolls and letters for the evening; she's not getting anything done anyway. Standing up from the desk, she circles it preparing to leave the study when she accidentally knocks a crate with her boot. _Ah, yes. I can take care of this now._ She knows she's rationalizing leaving the study before she's finished her work, but she really _needs_ to be around other people. This crate gives her the excuse she has been looking for. She picks it up and decides to hand-deliver it to its destination.

She arrives and knocks on the door. After a few moments, the door opens. He stands in the doorway, looking at her curiously before looking down and noting the hefty box in her hands. "What is this?"

"Just after you became a Warden, I contacted the Denerim estates," she explains. "I thought … I thought you might want some of the things that your father had kept there." His eyebrows raise. _I surprised him, I guess._ "I don't know what's in there. I haven't opened it. I hope that it's all right." She relinquishes her hold on the box as he takes it into his room and sets it down on the foot of his bed.

He turns to her, his face unreadable, and nods. "Thank you. This should be … interesting."

He looks down at the crate. She's not sure if he looks like he wants to open it or will it away. "Was it the wrong thing to do?" she asks quietly.

He looks up at her then, his eyes focused on hers. "No, I'm glad you did it. I'm just not sure I may like what I find in there."

She nods again, unsure of what to say. "Well … I guess I'll leave you to it. If you want to talk about anything, let me know?" The gesture is made before she thinks about it, but she's glad all the same. If she has learned anything over the past few weeks, it's that talking about a problem helps immensely. Nathaniel himself has taught her that.

"I will. Thank you." She closes the door and makes her way to the dining hall. Hopefully Oghren and Anders are still down there and would not mind company.

_**Do** I want to know?_

He studies the crate suspiciously. This cheap wooden box holds memories and records of things that Father deemed important enough to take with him when he left the keep. He isn't sure if he wants to risk knowing who Father actually was or not.

_Is it better to let this be? Am I better off not knowing? What purpose will it serve if I find something horrible? _He silently traces the edges of the box as he debates with himself. He knows that once he opens the crate and sees what is inside, he will not be able to turn back. He is a man now, not a child, but he still fears the loss of innocence that knowledge brings. _If I let this be, will I be able to move forward? Or will I be stuck in the past, wondering what happened? _He studies the grain of the unvarnished wood that comprises the sides of the crate.

_If I don't find out, if I never learn the truth, I could end up making some terrible decisions just like I almost did when I came back to Ferelden. I don't think I can live with that._

He pulls out one of his daggers and uses it to pry the lid open. After sheathing the dagger, he carefully pulls the lid the rest of the way off and sets it down next to the crate. Then he stops and takes a deep breath.

_This is it. _

A myriad assortment of trinkets, papers, and other assorted objects fills the crate. He starts to pick things up off the top and looks at them, sorting through everything. He sets aside the jewelry for Delilah since he has no need for it. Some of the pieces are heirloom quality and she can pass them on to her children. There is also a bundle wrapped in cloth; he uncovers it to find some small paintings. Those he sets aside as well. He will look at them more thoroughly later and decide what to keep. Some small figurines follow, along with a pair of bookends with the Howe crest engraved on them. These are nice, so he decides to keep them.

The bound stack of papers yet remains. He unties the stack and reads each one. He recognizes his own handwriting on several pages. _At least Father kept my letters._ The thought comforts him. There are a few letters from Delilah, one from Mother, and several from various other people. It appears that Father had at least two mistresses. _That's hardly surprising, especially since Father hated Mother. _Still, the thought disgusts him. He binds the letters back together and sets them aside.

Finally, he unwraps the paintings. They are all small portraits of family members. He remembers that many of these were hung in the study here at the keep when he was a child. He studies each of the faces in turn as he remembers the stories Father told him about each person. The last portrait depicts Father. He spends a little more time to study this painting. Father's hair is grayer than he remembers from childhood, the lines on his face more pronounced, but the portrait shows him looking regal and distinguished. He traces the eyes and nose, so like his own, and smiles a little to himself. _The Howes never were handsome men_.

He picks up the portrait to put with the others and is surprised at its thickness and weight. He raises an eyebrow. _That's odd._ He turns over the portrait and realizes that there is a false back on the mounting. Holding his breath, he opens it. A stack of papers falls out.

The papers range from letters to contracts. Each one is more incriminating than the last, but none are surprising. These crimes were already attached to Father and Loghain's names. There are notes discussing torture of people in the dungeons of his estates, explaining techniques used and information gained. There is a copy of a contract with someone in Tevinter, agreeing to sell alienage elves to slavers. Another contract is from the Antivan Crows, agreeing to kill the Grey Wardens in Ferelden. This contract specifies Elissa and Alistair's names. _Why? Why would you do these things, Father? Was power so important to you that it was worth the price of your soul?_

A letter in his handwriting is here as well. He remembers it clearly; he wrote this, excited that Father finally showed an interest in his studies. Father wrote a note in the margin. It simply says, "Perfect." Behind it is a note, dated shortly thereafter, from someone named Berwick. The letter states that there has been no change at Redcliffe castle, but that the Arl is still very ill. His stomach sours as a blind fury overcomes him. He throws down the papers and paces his room. _You son of a bitch. You USED me._

**He** shuffles the cards and deals. Diamondback is a fairly easy game to learn, so he and Anders are splitting the wins evenly even though he just taught the mage how to play. He picks up his cards and waits for Anders to start the game.

Elissa's voice surprises him. "Mind if I join you gentlemen?" He turns to see her standing there, waiting for an answer. He waves her over. "We'll deal you in next hand." She comes to the table and sits, watching the men play. Anders wins this round.

He grins as he hands the cards to Elissa. "You deal." She smiles a little and shuffles the cards, then deals. He snickers as Anders' eyes widen at watching her shuffle. She's _fast_. They start the game.

Elissa wins the next three hands readily. He just laughs as Anders groans. He neglected to tell the mage that she's really good at cards.

Anders complains. "How are you winning so much? Are you _cheating?_"

Elissa blinks at Anders, eyes wide in a fake expression of innocence. "Me? Cheat? _Never."_ She smirks as she shuffles, her hands a blur.

He laughs loudly. "Hah! We'll make a noble hunter of you yet!" As soon as the words leave his mouth, he groans. _Stupid thing to say after all she's been through_. He feels like an idiot. Well, like more of an idiot than he usually does. He risks a peek at Elissa.

She's not quite smiling at him, but she doesn't look mad either. "Um … not so much." She puts the cards on the table and pats his arm. "I'm all right, Oghren," she says softly. "It's been over a long time now." She picks up the cards and shuffles one more time before dealing. "All right, I'll play fair." She winks at Oghren. "But I say we add some stakes. Whoever loses has to take off a piece of clothing or jewelry."

Anders laughs and he sighs, relieved, as the awkward moment has passed. "I'm in! Let's do this!" He looks over at Elissa as they start the hand. _She didn't yell at me or tell me I was stupid. _He smiles as he figures out what card to play next.

**There's** not much left for him to lose at this point. He grumbles as he stands up to take off his robes. Oghren is snickering and even Elissa laughs a little as his voice is muffled through the cloth.

"I tell you, it's not fair. My robe is one piece and you're both wearing shirts and pants!"

Oghren laughs as he says, "take it like a _man_, mage. It's not our fault you wear a dress."

Elissa adds, helpfully, "Besides, we let you count each of those belts as a single piece. You just keep losing." He eyes her suspiciously now that his robes are off and she smiles sweetly. _Too_ sweetly.

"I swear, you two are _both_ cheaters." Oghren's still got his pants and boots on, and Elissa has only lost her jewelry and belt so far. "I would have thought that at least I'd get to see the commander with her shirt off." He mutters under his breath as he sits back down, clad only in his smallclothes. "It's kind of drafty in here."

Oghren grins and says, "I'm hungry. Anybody want a snack?" Elissa nods and he does too. "Okay, lemme see what's in the kitchen. I'll go get something to eat." He gets up. "Don't get a splinter in your arse while I'm gone, mage!" His laugh echoes in the hallway as he leaves the room.

Elissa shakes her head in amusement as she watches the dwarf leave. It's silent for a moment, then she tilts her head at him and looks at him curiously. "I had a question for you," she says. "I was thinking about when all this darkspawn mess," she waves at the hall, "is done. I know how much you hate the Chantry and if it would make you happy, I could write to Weisshaupt and ask for a transfer for you, maybe to the Anderfels or Tevinter?"

He blinks in surprise. "You would do that for me?"

She nods. "If you wanted it, I would do it." She sits silently for a moment. "We would miss you terribly here, of course, but I don't want you to be unhappy. I figure that since we're unlikely to recover your phylactery, putting some serious distance between it and you is one option for you." He looks at her. She looks completely sincere.

_A choice? _For the first time since he was taken to Kinloch Hold all those years ago, he has been given a _choice._ After thinking about it for a minute, he realizes that this, more than having the phylactery destroyed, is what he has actually _wanted._

_After all, she's already proven that if they do try to take me, she'll fight them. And as far as cages go, this one's pretty good. I can do whatever I want here and these are good people. They're not afraid of me and they don't treat me differently because of what I am. _

He smiles at Elissa. "Nah, I'll stay here. You need me too much." She relaxes and smiles. "Besides, you need to balance out the dwarf and Ser Grumpy somehow."

"Elissa? Are you bus-" Nathaniel has apparently just entered the room. "Maker's breath, Anders! Why are you _naked?"_


	19. Making Peace

**Sunlight** is shining in the room when she opens her eyes. She sits up and stretches, then swings her feet off the side of the bed. She feels … really good this morning. In fact, she feels better than she has in a long time.

_I don't remember waking up last night._ The revelation startles her into wakefulness. She thinks back to the previous night. She remembers getting ready for bed, then lying down and getting comfortable, then … nothing. She doesn't remember any nightmares and she feels _rested._

She smiles. Today is starting better than any other day has for the past two years. She intends to take advantage of it.

**He** sits on the edge of his bed, lost in thought, when a knock at the door startles him into awareness of the present. He calls out, "Enter." Elissa pokes her head in.

"Good, you're dressed," she says. "I was thinking of heading to Amaranthine to finally look into this smuggler business the constable was talking about. Would you like to come along?"

He shakes his head to clear the cobwebs in his mind and stands. "Yes, I would. The crate had some jewelry I wanted to give to Delilah." He walks to his shelf to pack up the jewelry and his gaze falls on Father's portrait. He goes still as he looks at it. For what seems like the thousandth time this week, he asks himself: _Why, Father?_

"What is it?" Elissa's voice comes from right behind him now. He turns to face her. She watches him with a look of concern. She continues, softly. "What's bothering you?"

He sighs. "I," he clears his throat, "I'm having trouble reconciling what I remember about Father with what he actually was. He did terrible things that I never dreamed he would even consider. And he used his own _family_ to further his goals. I loved him, and he used that love against me." He shrugs. "It's … humiliating to think that I never knew who Father really was, and that maybe he never cared about his own family. What kind of man _does_ that? How could I have been so wrong about him?"

She tilts her head for a moment, studying his face. "Maybe you weren't all that wrong." He looks at her in disbelief. "No, think about it. You didn't see him for a very long time. Most of the really awful things he did only happened in the last couple of years of his life. I think he became bitter and it destroyed him."

She pauses for a moment and chews on her lip. "I think that he became jealous because he wasn't getting ahead when others did, and I don't think he realized that he was holding himself back. He had the unfortunate tendency to be abrasive in the wrong situations so he got passed over when opportunities came. I suspect that eventually, his frustration and anger over it all consumed him. That's when he started to really do stupid things. But, I think he did something really right too. He was able to raise his children to be good people. Somehow, your father taught you what you needed to become a good man. Nobody who is completely evil could possibly raise his son that well."

She stops again and thinks. "You know, the fact that you were abroad when his life became so … ugly … could be a good thing. You have good memories of him from your childhood, and they don't have to be colored by seeing how bad he had gotten. Whatever his intentions were for sending you to squire, he did you a great service by separating you from the awful parts of his life. You can be _you_ without having to be part of his misdeeds."

"So, remember the good things and forget the bad?" He snorts. "I find that to be strange advice to follow."

She smiles as she turns to leave. "I never said you couldn't be _angry_ about what happened. I certainly was." She opens the door. "I'll see you downstairs when you're ready to go." She quietly closes the door as she walks out and leaves him to think.

_Maybe it shouldn't be remember the good and forget the bad, but instead remember the good and learn from the bad. I think I can do that. _He packs the jewelry that he plans to take to Delilah and leaves his room.

**Everybody's** quiet today. It's not a bad quiet – nobody seems to be mad about anything. He looks at Elissa. _She's actually smiling. I haven't seen her smile in a long time. She must be feeling better. _Nathaniel is his usual broody self, but he doesn't seem to be mad either; it's like he's thinking a lot but not in a bad way. And the mage is too busy looking off the side of the road to talk.

_Won't be too much more before we get to Amaranthine._

He remembers the conversation he had with Elissa this morning, about Felsi and the baby. He's glad he talked about it – makes him feel better. Especially since Elissa didn't think he was an awful person for it. _It's good to know somebody in this sodding world understands what I am. _He starts planning what he'll write to the nugget so that she'll have her first letter from her daddy.

**The** air smells fresh and the breeze feels just right as they walk. _It's a really nice day. And I get to be out in it. And there are no templars here! Wonders never cease._ He grins to himself. _I have a cat, I have friends, and I get to walk somewhere once in a while without worrying about getting dragged away to the Circle. _

He suddenly turns his attention back to the group. "Are we going to stay in Amaranthine for the night?"

"Probably," Elissa answers. "I doubt we will get everything done in one day if this smuggler issue is as big as the constable says. I was also planning on meeting with the merchant's guild. Why?"

He smiles. "Then I suggest that we go to the pub after dinner to relax. Who's with me?"

Oghren laughs. "I'll drink you under the table, mage!"

Elissa shakes her head, but he can tell she's smiling. Nathaniel, surprisingly, says, "I think I might join you for a pint. After dinner?"

He goes silent while Oghren taunts Nathaniel, trying to get him involved in a drinking contest. He can't help but smile.


	20. Adventures

"**The** haunted marsh … awaits."

She listens to him say the words; she watches his mouth form the syllables. She's _amazed_ at how different his entire face looks when he's happy. It lights up brighter than anything else she's ever seen. _His eyes sparkled. And he should really smile more often._ _I never knew he could laugh like that! _

She feels like Nathaniel just shared a private joke with her, and she discovers that she likes the feeling. In fact, she enjoys it more than she ever would have expected. It's, well, _distracting_. Despite herself, she replays their conversation in her mind, and even on the repeat, his enthusiasm causes the same warmth in her … stomach. _Yes, let's go with stomach._

She shakes her head to try to regain focus, but she still smiles bemusedly. She lets him take point for a while and watches the spring in his step as he proceeds to lead the group through the Blackmarsh. _I am really glad he is happy. I don't think he's had enough happiness in his life._

**He** creeps ahead using stealth, peering around the enormous rock with one hand outstretched in warning to the others. _Be ready for anything_. He sees nothing, so he cautiously takes a few steps and looks in the other direction before waving the group forward to his position.

This may be serious business, but he can't help himself. He just can't stop smiling. _I haven't had this much fun in years. I never would have guessed that being a Grey Warden is so satisfying._ He feels like he did as a child, playing make-believe with his sister and brother, when they would have pretend adventures throughout the keep and save the day.

_It doesn't get any better than fulfilling childhood dreams with a group of people I trust and like. _

He sees more wolves ahead and straightens as he pulls out his bow. Oghren rushes past him and one of Elissa's arrows whizzes by his head as he draws and fires.

**The **campfire crackles and hisses as a log pops. He finishes polishing his sword and looks up to see Elissa and Nathaniel talking about something. It looks like they're telling stories. _They're sitting kinda close together._ Elissa smiles as Nathaniel punctuates something he says by moving his hands around, then she laughs quietly at whatever he's just said.

_He's a lot better for her than Alistair was._ Now where did that thought come from? He's surprised at himself for coming up with that. But now that the thought is in his head, he actually considers it.

_Well, they have archery to talk about. And he was raised as a noble, just like her, so he understands that part of her. He actually thinks about stuff and he doesn't whine all the time like the pike-twirler did. I don't think he would have cared about Zevran, and Alistair couldn't stop talking about it like it was some horrible thing she did. He's just as smart as her too. Alistair could never keep up with her._

The more he thinks about the idea, the more he likes it. _Heh. I wonder how long it'll take the kid to come up with the idea on his own. When he does, I got his back. _He picks up his flagon as he gets up to take over watch for Anders.

_**Ugh.** The Fade is annoying._ He watches Elissa calm down the dwarf a little. It's not surprising that Oghren is a mess right now. _I guess this is his first time being in the Fade at all._

Nathaniel walks around and looks at everything with fascination before approaching him. "So, this is the Fade?" he asks. "This is … different than when I dream. We're not exactly dreaming, are we?"

He nods. "No, we're not dreaming. Well, we are but not really." _This is hard to explain to a non-mage._ "I'm surprised you are all awake, actually. Normally only mages can stay awake when they're in the Fade, and we don't even come here this way very much. I haven't been here like this since my Harrowing."

"What's a Harrowing?" _Right, I guess he wouldn't know that._

He grimaces. "Well, in its infinite wisdom, the Chantry decided that apprentices need to be tested before they become full mages. So they drop us in the Fade and make us fight demons directly, to show that we're not going to be turned into abominations at the first opportunity. If we fail, or we take too long, templars strike us down." He grumbles under his breath. "It's a _mage secret._ They don't even tell the apprentices what will happen – they just get dumped into the Fade when the First Enchanter decides they're ready."

Nathaniel raises an eyebrow. "That sounds … barbaric, if I might say."

"You certainly can say. It is barbaric, and it's one of the reasons I _hate_ Chantry control. We're treated like we're going to go crazy at any given minute."

Nathaniel shakes his head. "I think I see why you hated being in the Circle so much. Anyway, how do we get out?"

"Well, that's the tricky part," he sighs. "We're going to need to find someone powerful enough to open up the Veil enough without tearing it and let us back across. That could be difficult – usually that involves several mages and a decent supply of lyrium."

Nathaniel looks determined now. "We'll find a way." The way Nathaniel says it, he can almost believe it. "We'd better start looking, I guess."

He nods and they turn to the others to start trying to figure out how to leave this place.


	21. Family

_A/N: We have reached the end, my friends. I find it is now time to clarify: I consider this and my story "Choices" to be from the same universe. (I didn't want to give it away earlier because of timeline stuff and because I didn't want to create spoilers for my own writing.) :) _

_Anyway, more stories will come, and I'm sure I will write something else from this universe. Thank you all for reading! And thank you, story-alert-adders, story-favoriters (Yes, I know I'm making up new words here, hehe) and especially my reviewers, for the encouragement and feedback. I heart you guys. _

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**He** is standing right behind her, one hand on her back, the other parallel to her bow hand as he explains to her how he guides his aim. He has pitched his voice low to avoid hurting her ear since he's speaking nearly directly into it. She catches a whiff of pine as the breeze changes slightly. _He smells good. _Not for the first time, she marvels at how _comfortable_ he makes her feel, even standing this close behind her.

He murmurs instructions. "Good. Now, what I do is let out a breath, shoot when I get to the end of the breath, and then breathe in again as I follow through."

"Really?" She's surprised. "I was taught to shoot while holding my breath." She looks up at him from the corner of her eye. She sees him nod.

"Yes. That's the usual way. But for me, I found that I would hold my breath too long and tense up. This way, I stay more relaxed and my aim improves because I'm moving less."

"Ah, that makes sense." She looks back to the target and adjusts her aim as he has instructed. "Do you think that was the cause of my tension before?"

"Possibly. It can catch up with you if you don't notice it. Although, I daresay you also had other stresses in your life at the time." His voice sounds amused.

She smiles and makes her final adjustments, then tries letting the arrow go after letting air out, rather than in. The arrow flies and strikes close to the center of the target. "Hmm, I'll have to practice that, I think, but I can see how that would work." She lowers the bow and turns to him. "Thank you. I was wondering how your aim is so close to perfect."

He smiles at her. "You're quite welcome. Your aim was excellent before this, so I don't know how much this will help. Are you still willing to show me how you manage to get so much power behind your shots?"

She grins. "Absolutely. Why don't we do that after you show me that technique where you shoot a bunch of arrows up in the air and they come down spread out evenly?"

He laughs. "I see how it is. Get all my secrets from me and then you will be called away for some important business." He pretends to be stern, but his eyes are still twinkling. It makes her laugh.

**He** fakes a sigh. "I _suppose_ I can show you." She laughs again. He puts one hand on her waist and the other on her shoulder to help her position correctly for the rain of arrows move. He explains how he changes the shooting angle just a hair for each shot, creating the spread of arrows without making shots go really wide. "The concept is easy enough, of course, but application of the concept can take some practice." She nods as he steps away so she can try it.

Her form looks good when she shoots, but she's shot too far straight up. He runs to her, alarmed, and she squeaks when he grabs her around the waist and drags her away from where she was standing. He deposits her ten feet away from where he grabbed her; she turns to him, "What-"

_Thunk._ One of the arrows pierces the armor lying on the ground next to where she had been standing. " … Oh." She raises an eyebrow. "I guess I should have shot at a _little_ more of an angle?" Her face reddens a bit as she says this.

He chuckles. "Maybe just a little." The arrows are coming down in earnest now; their placement is pretty good for her first time trying this move. They watch them come down, then he turns to her. "I _might_ have neglected to mention that you need to assume the wind is stronger where the arrows will arc and start to fall back down."

"That could help! Although I should have thought of that myself." Elissa's laugh warms his insides. They retrieve arrows and set up to try again.

_**Kids**_**.** He looks at the pair practicing archery and shakes his head. He's glad he's not right there at this particular moment. _Don't wanna get an arrow in the ass. Or shoulder._ He turns back to the soldiers standing in front of him. "Who goes next?"

The soldiers seem to be improving. He's glad. Otherwise they'd be useless if anything important attacked the keep. He spars with a tall man who uses a sword and shield while the others pair off and practice amongst themselves.

Not too much later, the soldiers he's been training are all done in. He dismisses them for the day and puts away his wooden sword. _Sodding fake weapons._ He supposes it's better than killing off his students by accident, though.

Nathaniel and Elissa are still practicing. _Looks like they're having a good time._ He laughs to himself and walks over to Anders, who is watching them while leaning on a post.

_**They** look good together. _He watches Elissa stand behind Nathaniel, now, and position his arms and shoulders. Oghren walks up and stands next to him. They watch the pair train for a minute before he speaks.

"Do you think they have any clue yet? Because he is totally doomed." he asks the dwarf.

"Heheh, nah. But they're smart. They'll figure it out soon enough." The dwarf takes a pull from his flagon then offers him some. He declines with a smile.

"When do you think we should start writing out wedding invitations? Ooh, I wonder if I get to give her away." He grins wickedly. "That way she'll know what she's giving up." The dwarf laughs and he bows.

"I don't think they let annoying little brothers give away the bride. You'll be lucky if they let you be the flower girl." Oghren laughs at his own joke.

"Hey, if I'm the annoying little brother, then you're the creepy uncle!" Oghren barks out a laugh and shakes his head. Then the dwarf turns to him with _that_ look in his eye, the one that screams _I'm up to no good._

"We should teach Justice how to play diamondback," he says. "I bet even _you_ can beat him."

He laughs. "Maybe, but no cheating. I'd rather not be caught and lectured on how _unjust_ it is. And we are _not_ playing to lose clothes." He shudders. "I'm not interested in seeing or smelling that, thanks."

Oghren laughs. "Fair enough," the dwarf says, and they head into the keep.

FIN


End file.
